Masked Destiny

Masked Destiny

Masked Destiny Mark A. Roeder

iUniverse, Inc. New York Lincoln Shanghai

Masked Destiny All Rights Reserved © 2004 by Mark A. Roeder No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher. iUniverse, Inc. For information address: iUniverse, Inc. 2021 Pine Lake Road, Suite 100 Lincoln, NE 68512 www.iuniverse.com This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All registered trademarks mentioned in this book are the property of their respective owners. No infringement is intended or should be inferred. ISBN: 0-595-77746-5 Printed in the United States of America

This book is dedicated to Robbi Hilton and the boys at The Rainbow Connection in Hope, Arkansas. If more of us could be like you, Robbi, the world would be a better place.

Acknowledgements

I’d like to thank Ken Clark, Jim Hertwig, and REC for proofing this manuscript. It’s a hard job and I’m pleased they were willing to do it, again.

-v-

I’m just an ordinary guy; you need to understand that right off. I never meant to be doing the things I’m doing. If you’d told me even a few weeks ago how my life was going to change, I wouldn’t have believed you. I’d have laughed and maybe even slugged you for good measure. Some things happened that I didn’t plan, however, and other things happened I didn’t even think were possible. Life’s like that—it throws stuff at you that you never saw coming. You probably won’t even believe it when I tell you…but, no, I’m not going to tell you yet. You have to experience it from the beginning, just like I did, otherwise it will just blow your mind. So that’s where we’ll begin, at the beginning…

-1-

Early September 1997 (Shortly after Keeper Of Secrets and concurrent with Do You Know That I Love You)

Skye

I lowered the hundred pound sack of chicken feed into the back of old man Koch’s 77’ GMC pickup and then dusted off my hands. “Thanks, Skye.” “No problem, Mr. Koch.” I turned and stepped back into Wahlberg’s Farm Store, the bells jingling on the door as it closed behind me. I didn’t mind my job in the old store too much, but I’d rather have been working in an Abercrombie & Fitch or Structure or someplace similar. That was out, though, because the nearest Structure was in South Bend and the closest A&F was in Glenbrook Square Mall in Fort Wayne—neither would do for an after-school job. One cool thing about Wahlberg’s is that Glen (Mr. Wahlberg) was real cool about letting me work around football practices, games, and whatever else I needed to do. I even did my homework when things were particularly dead in the store, which wasn’t too infrequent. I walked past the displays of paint, racks of John Deere and Pioneer caps, and bags of alfalfa pellets as I made my way to the stock room, which was piled floor to ceiling with every farm related article imaginable, from fan belts to tractor tires. Rare was the day when we didn’t have what a customer wanted. I pulled back the heavy sliding door and stepped out onto the loading dock. A delivery of roofing tar had arrived right before Mr. Koch came in for feed. There were six pallets, each with nine metal buckets of tar. I’d only carried two into the store room before I’d been interrupted—just fifty-two left to go. I grabbed another pair of buckets by the handles, carefully lifting the forty-pound containers with my knees. I wasn’t about to risk a back injury. That’d set me back no telling how -3-

Mark A. Roeder

4

far. My biceps bulged as I curled my fists in towards my body. Those tar buckets were almost as good as my Bowflex when it came to curls. They’d give me a little extra workout before I went home. I could’ve asked Oliver to help me, but he was about useless when it came to lifting things. Oliver handled most of the counter stuff and I did the stocking and lifting. His full name was Oliver Twist. Swear to God, his parents actually named him that. What kind of parents would do that to their kid? Oliver didn’t need a geek name. He had enough problems. The boy probably couldn’t get a date if he begged and word was he was queer—so maybe he didn’t even care that he couldn’t get a girl. I don’t know if it was true or not, but it might as well have been for he had nothin’ going for him. He was heavy and had messy black hair and round plastic glasses that made him look a lot like Harry Potter, which was not a good thing at Verona High School, not if you want to fit in anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking him. I’m just saying the boy had problems. Oliver had his uses. With him there, I could do my homework, because he took care of most of the customers. We didn’t talk much as we had little in common. At fourteen, he was two years younger than me and there was a world of difference between us. While I played every sport I could get into, Oliver always had his nose stuck in some damned book. I swear, every time I saw him he had a different one. He must’ve read at least one a day. But, enough about Oliver—I’ve taken that topic about as far as it can go without boring anyone into a coma. If you need to, you can take a nap before reading any further. I’ll be right here when you get back. I made one trip after another with the cans of tar, curling each one. My biceps were pleasantly aching, which meant I was doing them some good. No pain, no gain, that’s what a lot of weight lifting books said. Coach Brewer said that was only true to a certain point, though. He said I might feel a little sore now and then after a workout, but if there was actual pain, it meant I was working too hard. Soreness equals muscle growth, but pain equals damage and that’s no good. I figured Coach Brewer knew what he was talking about. He was thirty somethin’ and way better built than anyone on the team, except for Jimmy. I listened to what Coach had to say about stuff like working out, even if he did live an alternative lifestyle. Speaking of alternative lifestyles, there were sure a lot of queers around. There was Coach Brewer and his…friend, room-mate…whatever you’d call him. And then there were the Selby’s, who were in and out of Wahlberg’s, buying all kinds of stuff for their farm. There were even some queers at school, like Sean and Nick who were both juniors, the same as me. Well, they weren’t the same as me.

Mark A. Roeder

5

They’d actually been seen kissing each other a time or two. I did a lot of kissing, but only with girls. There were less queers around than there had been. In the spring, three of ’em were murdered. I shit you not. Some whacked out cult or religious group was going after them. Two guys from my class got iced: Marty, who was shot in the head out behind the school and Ken, who was found beaten to death. I didn’t know either of them well, but I had some classes with them. It was kind of freaky that they were there one day and gone the next. Ken was kind of an activist, always pushing gay rights stuff in everyone’s face, which I didn’t like. He was kind of like one of those religious types who are always bugging people to be saved—just plain annoying. Marty was real quiet. I don’t know if I’d ever spoken to him. Some freshman was killed, too, Tony…something. I didn’t know him at all. He was found near the park beaten to death with a baseball bat. Our little town had made the news there for a while. I didn’t really care one way or the other about queers. They were just there, like the bleachers by the football field or the drinking fountains in the halls. I didn’t like the real swishy ones, but there was no one like that in Verona. Queers like that were just in the movies and on TV, I guess. Don’t get the idea that I didn’t care when those boys were killed. I did, but people were murdered all the time, only it usually happens somewhere else. It isn’t pretty or nice, but it’s just the way things are. By the time I found out about the murders, they were over and done with, so there was no reason to dwell upon them. It’s not like I could’ve prevented them after they happened. Two by two, I hauled the cans of tar into the store room. I curled each pair of them like they were dumbbells, so by the time I’d finished, I’d done twenty-three reps. When I worked out, I did fifteen, but I was also curling way more than forty pounds per arm then. Still, it was cool to work in a little exercise while earning money. After I unloaded the pallets and stacked them to the side, there was nothing to do. I could’ve tried to read Wahlberg’s Farm Store Established 1902 backwards through the plate glass windows, or sweep the floor, or neatly stack the farmer’s almanacs on the counter, but those were Oliver jobs. Instead, I pulled out my U.S. History text and tried to plod through our assigned reading. Mr. Morrison actually made history interesting most of the time (an unbelievable feat believe you me), but our book was as dry and dull as…as things that are dry and dull. Okay, that didn’t sound so good, but, hey, I’m not a writer, so give me a break. If you want artsy writing go read William Shakespeare or Anne Rice or one of those fancy smantsy writers—I’m just tellin’ you about me.

Mark A. Roeder

6

After three pages, I nearly slipped into a coma, so I jumped down to the floor and did a few push-ups to wake myself up. Oliver all but ignored me. He just went on straightening up the gallon cans of red barn paint—like they had to be spaced perfectly—please! He was used to me doing pushups on the floor or chin-ups on the bar over the door that led into the storeroom. We each kind of pretended the other wasn’t there, except when we got bored enough to talk to each other. I returned to my book only to be interrupted when two customers came in at the same time. Rush hour! While Oliver was taking care of Mr. Franklin, I got to weigh out roofing nails for old Mr. Evert. Yes, the fun never ends at Wahlberg’s Farm Store. Come on down for the excitement! We locked up at nine. Oliver had his own set of keys for when Mr. Wahlberg wasn’t around, which was practically always. If he was in one day a week it was a rarity. I hopped in my Cutlass, drove straight home, and ran upstairs to my room, shouting a quick “hello” to Janelle, my older sister, and Colin, my nephew, who were sitting in the living room watching TV. Oh, I should mention I live with my sister because our parents are divorced (and both dating someone half their age). My sister was pretty cool to live with. She pretty much lets me do my own thing, probably because I’m paying half the bills and she needs all the help she could get with Colin growing so fast it seems like he needs new shoes every week. Anyway, I’ll tell you more about Janelle and Colin later. I stepped into my room. There it stood, my most prized possession, my Bowflex. It cost me over $1,200 of hard earned money, but it was worth every penny. I’d destroyed two previous weight lifting machines—one I’d picked up at an auction for $50 and another I bought new for $400. The first one I just plain wore out. I used it so much that it got all out of line and when I was benching I was grating steel on steel. It got so bad I had to junk it. The $400 machine didn’t last near as long as it should’ve. I was doing butterflies one day and the left arm of the machine just kept on coming in when it should’ve stopped. I checked it out and discovered the metal had actually ripped. I guess it’d fatigued with use. Still, I was pissed, especially because it left me with no weight-machine. I had to empty my savings to get the Bowflex, but it was worth it. I’d had it a year and not only did it show no signs of breaking, I was getting better results from my workouts and that’s what mattered. Their advertisements said something like “get the results you want in eight weeks.” I knew that was bullshit. There was no way I could get the results I wanted in eight weeks or even eight years. Still, it was working for me. Man, I sound like a commercial for Bowflex don’t I? Well, it’s a good machine.

Mark A. Roeder

7

I pulled off my shirt and changed into my workout shorts—Abercrombie & Fitch cargo shorts, the only way to go. I set up the machine for chest presses, putting on 175 pounds of resistance, which equals way more than 175 on a regular machine. I do 225 or so on the machines at school, but the Bowflex is more difficult, especially because it makes you work all the time, even during the release. On a regular machine, it takes almost no muscle to lower the bar after a rep, but on the Bowflex releasing is just as hard as lifting. That’s what’s been giving me way better definition. I leaned back on the bench, grasped the holds, and pushed forward. The rods bent as I strained against them. I could feel my pecs flexing as I pressed and the muscles stretching as I eased off. I loved working out. It was like a drug. I guess it was really—endorphins, that’s what they’re called, are released into the body during exercise and it feels awesome! I love the way I feel after workouts too, all tight and toned and pumped. My workout was far from finished. There were three sets of chest presses, fifteen reps each, and then I’d do the same number of butterflies, lateral pull-downs, and so on, ending with curls and ab crunches. My workouts usually took a little under an hour and a half. I was getting awesome results with crunches. I was getting nice definition in my six-pack and I was hoping to work on an eight-pack. Jimmy had an eight-pack, at least he had an awesome six-pack with the beginnings of an eight-pack. Jimmy was the only guy on the team better built than me, which meant he was pretty much the only guy in school with a better bod. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking—that I’m a conceited cock. Well, that’s not exactly true. Yeah, I know I look fine, but dammit, I worked for it. I’ve played football, baseball, basketball, soccer, and I’ve wrestled and run track. Unfortunately, a lot of the seasons overlap, so I can’t participate in as much as I’d like. Football is my number one priority in the fall. Baseball and track are both in the spring, but the coaches are real good about letting me split my time when necessary. I haven’t played basketball or soccer since I was younger, because of conflicting schedules, but I’m doing one sport or another pretty much all year ’round. On top of all that, I’ve worked out every other day since I was twelve. I only miss a workout if I’m sick or dead tired. I deserve my body. I made it. I’ve watched what I eat too. I can’t just pig out on everything like some guys. If I let myself have too much pizza or ice cream or whatever I’d get pudgy, but I watch what I eat. It’s work. I make plenty of sacrifices to have what I do, so if I’m conceited, I have a right to be. I don’t think that makes me a dick, though. I don’t look down on anyone because they’re not as

Mark A. Roeder

8

buff as me. It’s not like I look at Oliver and think fat ass, or something like that. I’d sure never put him or anyone else down for being overweight or out of shape. Maybe being fit isn’t their thing. I know some people have other interests, but being in shape is mine. I’m proud of what I’ve done, but aren’t scientists proud when they make some discovery? Aren’t actors proud when they make a good movie? Why shouldn’t I be proud of my body? I’m sick and tired of people saying shit about guys like me. They act like we should go around being all humble and totally ignore the main thing we’ve got going for us. If the only thing I had going for me was a gorgeous face, it would be different, but there’s more to me than that—I’m buff and I worked like a dog to get that way. By the way, I do have a very handsome face, but I’ll not say anything about it because that I didn’t work for, it just came with the basic equipment. Okay, I’ll get off my soapbox now. Anyway, I had a good workout and then it was time for some homework, and then bed. I won’t tell you what I did right before bed because it’s none of your business and if you think about it, you’ll figure it out. I’m sixteen and I’m a guy…hmm…what could it be? If you can’t figure it out, tough for you. What planet are you from anyway?

Oliver

I could hear it calling to me from the kitchen. Why wouldn’t it leave me alone? I wished Mom hadn’t made it, but she knew how much I loved it and she was only trying to be nice. That was the problem with Mom, she showed her love through cooking—cakes; chocolate chip, oatmeal, and sugar cookies; butterscotch pudding; peanut butter and chocolate fudge; blueberry muffins—it was endless. My stomach rumbled. I looked down at it, pushing against my shirt, as if I might be in the early stages of pregnancy. I hated the way it looked and felt. It was uncomfortable, like a too tight shirt or socks that kept slipping down my ankles. It called to be again. I gave in and walked toward the kitchen. What did it matter? What was one more piece of cake? “Hi, honey,” said my mom. She was standing there in an apron, looking like Alice from the Brady Bunch or Mrs. Cleaver from Leave it to Beaver. My mom was an old fashioned mom. She stayed home and did housework, gardened, and cooked—most of all she cooked, twenty-fours a day it sometimes seemed. That’s the way she liked it, though. She had friends with careers and they tried to tempt her into joining them, but she said she was happy at home. It’s what she wanted. She knew she was free to be anything she desired and staying at home was it. Her friends didn’t believe her, but I did. She was happy about pretty much everything, except her weight. She was heavy, like me, only not as heavy. I guess I’d inherited my fat from her. I appreciated my green eyes a lot more. “Hey, Mom.”

-9-

Mark A. Roeder

10

She was looking at me, just waiting for me to take a slice of cake. Her eyes lit up as I pulled a small plate from the cabinet and cut myself a nice sized piece. It was chocolate—a large, flat cookie cake with creamy icing and pecans. It might’ve been the best thing in the whole world. “Do you want a little ice cream with that?” “Sure, why not?” I asked. What was a little vanilla ice cream when I was already having cake? I sat down at the table and ate it—so delicious, chocolaty, and sweet—like heaven made into a dessert. When I finished I felt overfull and guilty. I shouldn’t have eaten the cake and I especially shouldn’t have had the ice cream on top. I was already filled to the brim with supper—pork chops, mashed potatoes with a little pool of margarine in the center, and corn. I looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost time to leave for work. Every day I came home from school, had an early supper, and then went to my job at Wahlberg’s Farm Store. I liked it there. It was quiet, mostly, and the pay was good. Mr. Wahlberg practically let me run the place. He didn’t care that I was fourteen. I could handle the register and the inventory and I was good at keeping the place in shape. I loved the old store. I loved all old things. Wahlberg’s was one of those real old-fashion stores that was all wood and lots longer than it was wide. It had worn wooden floors and a counter that’d been there from the beginning. I loved to just gaze at the brass cash register with the little slab of marble above the drawer. I loved the sound of the bell when I pushed down the keys and the door popped open. There was lots of way old stuff in Wahlberg’s, old stock that had never been sold, like the cream separator parts, old graniteware pans and pails, and even clothing left over from the depression. The candy jars were all nearly a hundred years old, there from the beginning, like the counter and the register. There was plenty of new stuff too, like packets of seeds in the spring, wheels for lawn mowers, paint brushes, horse and cattle feed, and more. I liked the old stuff best, however. It made me think of a time when people were nicer and the world was a better place. I shook myself from my thoughts, gave Mom a kiss on the cheek, and stepped outside, letting the screen door slam behind me. I loved the sound of it. I don’t know why. I only lived three blocks from the farm store, so my commute to work wasn’t long, which was a good thing since I couldn’t drive. I was gonna get a car someday. I was saving up for it. I wanted an old one, like from the 1950’s or ’60’s maybe.

Mark A. Roeder

11

After a short walk I arrived at the store, and Mr. Wahlberg greeted me with a smile. I knew he would be leaving pretty soon. He almost always took off as soon as I got there. I guess I would too if I’d been there all day long. He watched the store during the day and I took care of things in the evening and night. Skye worked there too. He was a football player at school. I didn’t like him much. Well, that sounds kind of wrong. I don’t mean I disliked him, I just didn’t like him, if you know what I mean. He didn’t have much to say to me and he was kind of stuck up. He was one of those guys whose hair is always just right, like maybe he’d freak out if it wasn’t. He had a thing for labels too. It was a rarity when he didn’t have Abercrombie slapped across his chest or thigh. I bet he would’ve died if he had to wear something from Wal-Mart. At least he wasn’t a jerk. He wasn’t ever actually mean to me or anything like that. I did enjoy looking at Skye. He was handsome and had an incredible body with lots of muscles. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking—I’m gay. Well, guess what, you’re right! I always have been, born that way, you know. I don’t keep it a secret, exactly, but then again I’ve never told anyone, so maybe I do. My parents don’t know, that’s for sure. I think they might be okay with it, but it’s not something I want to discuss with them. Some of the guys at school call me “queer” and less friendly names, but they don’t really know anything. The only way they could know is if they could get inside my head, unless I’ve let my eyes wander too much, which is a possibility, although I try to control it. I work especially hard at not staring around Skye, ’cause we work together and he could pound me into a pulp with ease. Plus, he’s more worth lookin’ at than any other guy, so I have to watch myself all the more. Skye came in a little late from football practice, which wasn’t unusual. I was glad to see him because Mr. Koch had just bought a hundred pound bag of chicken feed and I wasn’t looking forward to lugging it to his truck. I would’ve had to use the dolly and even then it would’ve been a struggle. That was one good thing about Skye, he jumped right in when there was something heavy to lift. He actually seemed to like lifting stuff. I hated lifting because it made my arms ache, but Skye seemed to think it was fun. Maybe he’d taken one too many footballs to the head. Who knows? Skye set to work on the tar shipment that’d come in during the day. I’d left it for him. He handled the heavy lifting and I took care of the counter. That was our unspoken agreement and it was much to my liking. I’d much rather take care of customers and organize displays than strain my guts out lifting stuff, and there was plenty of heavy stuff to lift in the farm store. That’s probably why Mr. Wahlberg hired Skye.

Mark A. Roeder

12

Sunday was drawing closer and I was nervous. I promised myself that Sunday was going to be the day. I’d procrastinated and worried long enough. It was time to just get it over with. I was dying of curiosity and who knew what might happen? I know you don’t know what I’m talking about, but I think I’m going to keep it that way for a while, just in case I chicken out. If I do, you don’t need to know about it anyway. If I don’t, you’ll find out soon enough.

Skye

I grinned as I walked away from my locker. Sherry Benson was looking me over good as she pretended to search in the top of her locker for whatever. I liked being checked out, because that meant I was succeeding. Sherry was a looker herself, so it meant even more. When one of the hot babes wanted you, it was a sure sign you were looking good. I didn’t have very much time for girls. Between school, work, sports, and workouts, I didn’t have a spare second, and it’s not like I could give any of those up. I had to go to school if I wanted to get anywhere in life; besides, there were laws about that. Sports and working out were untouchable. I wouldn’t have minded dropping work if I didn’t need the money, but paying half the bills for my sister took way more than I would’ve ever dreamed. College was coming up, too, so I needed money for that. No, I had to keep working. I had precious little time for girls, but, before you start thinking I’m queer or something, let me tell you that I do go out with a girl sometimes. It’s just that I don’t have time for a steady girlfriend. Most of the girls at Verona High School are just too plain stuck up to date anyway. They think they’re doing a guy a favor if they go out with him. Yeah, they’ve got what guys want, but guys have what they want too, so it’s not a one-way street like they like to pretend. To hear ’em talk, you’d think they got nothing out of dating at all. If that was true, then why did they bother? Actually, guys got the raw end of the deal, unless a girl put out. Guys usually had to pay, and then they got nothing for it. That’s another reason I didn’t date much. Why invest my hard earned money in something that probably wasn’t going to pay off? - 13 -

Mark A. Roeder

14

First period I had English Lit. The stuff we read is more okay than you’d think. I don’t like to read. It’s a humongous waste of time, but since I have to do it anyway, I try to make the best out of it. Mrs. Kafka doesn’t help. She has a way of sucking all the fun out of it, as if there weren’t little enough fun to begin with. If she taught a film-appreciation class, I bet she could find a way to make Independence Day or any of the Arnold Schwarzenegger films boring. Arnold kicks ass, by the way. Jimmy sits right in front of me in English Lit. His broad shoulders are a constant reminder that I’m not king of the hill. Sometimes I wish he would move to another state or something, but then he is an awesome football player and being around him all the time makes me work harder. When my sister’s trying to lose weight, sometimes she’ll tape a picture of a thin model to the refrigerator to remind herself what she’s working toward. Jimmy is like that for me—if I keep working out, I can look like him. Jimmy’s got it down—cool body, cool clothes. He lives the life. I don’t let him know I think that way, because we’re kind of rivals. He can do more chin-ups than me, but I can out ab-crunch him. He can bench more, but I can run faster. We’re pretty well balanced, but I have to admit he’s got the better bod and he’s stronger. We’ve both got our eye on the quarterback spot for next year. It’s out of the question for this season, because Jeremy Herrington has it all wrapped up. He’s not as built or as strong as Jimmy and I are, but I’ve got to admit he’s a kick-ass quarterback. He’s a senior, so next year he’ll be history. Woohoo! No Mrs. Kafka today! A substitute walked in—a college girl who looked like she should be sitting at one of the desks instead of standing up front. She put us to reading, though, which didn’t thrill me. I guess it wasn’t too bad. It was still better than listening to Mrs. Kafka drone on, and I could get my English Lit work out of the way and maybe have some free time after practice and work. I drew a look from the sub when I snorted fifteen minutes into the period, but she didn’t say anything. I laughed because Marshall, who sat one row to the right and one desk up, was reading a Fangora that he’d carefully hidden behind his Lit book. He wouldn’t have been that ballsy with Mrs. Kafka, but I guess he thought he could get away with it with a sub. Substitutes were usually easy prey. They never knew what was going on and sometimes didn’t care. The one sitting in for Mrs. Kafka was kind of a looker. I occasionally gave her the eye. She was looking at me too. Yeah, Babe, you want me, don’t you? I bet she’d have fantasies about me when she went to bed and would probably tell all her college girlfriends about the hot guy she had in her English Lit class.

Mark A. Roeder

15

I looked back at Marshall. He was a freak—obsessed with monsters and the occult. He practically ignored everyone around him, except for his girlfriend. He had started wearing more fashionable clothes, though—Structure today, if I wasn’t mistaken. It was definitely an improvement over what he used to wear, not as cool as A&F, of course, but better than his former all-black wardrobe. He wasn’t even a Goth or anything; that’s just how he dressed. It was weird, but he’d always looked like he shopped at Ghoul-Mart, and then one day he just changed. He came to school wearing cool clothes, a gold chain, and he was sporting a new hairstyle. Just after that, Kate Camden started dating him. Marshall didn’t have a bod, but he cleaned up okay. I guess Kate was happy with him because they were still dating. Maybe she liked the strange and silent type. English Lit went pretty fast, unlike the usual twelve hours that seemed to pass until the end of the period. My whole day spun by, and soon I found myself in the locker room, changing for practice. Glen Barrett just about knocked me over, because he was hopping up and down on one foot while trying to pull the shoe off his other foot, the dumb-ass. I didn’t say anything to Glen, but glared at him to let him know I was higher in the food chain. Sometimes guys had to be reminded where they stood, kind of like in the animal kingdom where the Alpha male keeps the Beta males in line. To be honest, Jimmy was the Alpha male in our pack, but I intended to alter that. Sooner or later, I was going to come out on top. Glen mumbled a quick “sorry” and lowered his eyes, so I was appeased for the moment. I looked across the locker room at Ben Tyler. He was another Beta male I’d have to put in his place soon. Ben was nicely built. He wasn’t anywhere near the level of Jimmy and me, but he had a bod. He also had a face. He was downright pretty. He didn’t give me any real trouble, but I could sense something from him. I didn’t think he quite knew his place, so he’d have to be reminded. Order had to be maintained. “Dude, don’t be such a fag,” said Alex Allerbrook. I didn’t know who he was talking to, but he wasn’t talking to me, so it didn’t matter. If it’s not happening to me, it doesn’t matter—that’s my motto. I stole if off of Murphy Brown on TV. “Don’t let Coach hear you say that,” said Glen. “What? Fag? Why?” Alex was new. He just started at V.H.S. in August, so he didn’t know about Coach’s alternative lifestyle. “Coach Brewer has a boyfriend.” “What? You’re shitting me!” “No and you’d better knock off the fag talk. He doesn’t stand for it.”

Mark A. Roeder

16

“He’s a fag?” “Hey!” yelled Elliott, one of our linemen. “I’d better not hear you say that again. Coach Brewer is cool. He’s the best football coach this place has ever had!” Elliott scowled at Alex until he got the message. Alex was shaken, although I couldn’t tell if it was fear of Elliott or if he was just freaked out that our coach was queer. Every year one of the new guys kind of lost it when they discovered Coach was gay, but they chilled out pretty fast when they found out he wasn’t going to stand around in the locker room checking us out. All of us older guys stood up for him because we respected him. He was the best coach ever, and he’d never given any of us cause to fear him. As far as I knew, he’d never put the moves on a player. Occasionally, some parent stirred up some trouble for him, but it never went anywhere, because others stood up for him. Everyone respected Coach Brewer, so the whole queer thing kind of got ignored. We started practice with running, lots of running. I peeled off my shirt and tossed it on the bleachers before I starting jogging around the track that surrounded the football field. I liked to go shirtless whenever I could. I’ll admit I was showing off, but so what? Besides, a display of strength helped keep the Beta males in line. It was a way of maintaining order and I didn’t even have to punch anyone. As always, running was a silent contest between Jimmy and me. We each pushed to outdo the other. Not once had either of us made a challenge or called our competition a race, but even though unspoken, it was a contest nonetheless. I pulled out ahead of Jimmy, just enough to let him know that in this, at least, I was his superior. He had a better bod and was stronger, but I was faster. Sweat beaded on my forehead and chest. Soon, I could feel it running down my torso. My heart pounded in my chest as I continually pushed myself to keep ahead of Jimmy. I had to keep ahead of him. I couldn’t let him beat me in this, too. Some of the other guys tried to keep up with us, but they failed. A few could hang in there for a few laps, but as we neared the end, they dropped off one by one. I was forever the front runner. I did cross country in track, and I was usually the front runner there too. I’d tried to be a kicker, to hold back until near the end and then sprint out the last of the race, but it didn’t work for me. I just couldn’t stand being in the pack. I had to be out there ahead. That could be tough in track. Some of the lighter guys had the advantage there. That was okay, though, because football was my thing. Coach blew his whistle and called us onto the field. We collapsed around him, gasping for breath, hearts pounding in our chests. Coach talked as we caught our breath, outlining the practice for the day. I was pleased to hear we’d be running

Mark A. Roeder

17

scrimmages. A lot of the time we just practiced passing, receiving, blocking, and all the rest. That was fine, but I liked scrimmages the best. They were closer to an actual game. I smiled when we faced off. Ben Tyler was directly across from me. It was the perfect opportunity. He mistook my smile for friendliness and grinned back. I’d seen him use his smile like a weapon to disarm people. He could charm the pants off most people because he was so good looking. Even Mrs. Kafka cut him slack. Mrs. Leander, the art teacher, practically fawned over Ben. There were rumors floating around that Ben slept with Mrs. Leander. I didn’t know if it was true or not. I wanted to ask, but I didn’t want to give Ben any suspicion that I thought he might have the prowess to seduce a teacher. Besides, I’d never know for sure if he told me the truth anyway, so it was pointless. There were a lot of bullshit rumors floating around the school at all times, but I kind of believed this one. Mrs. Leander was divorced, in her early 30s, and a looker. I could see how Ben would go for her. A lot of boys lusted after her. I could see where she’d be attracted to Ben too. He had a good bod, that pretty face of his, and light blond hair. A guy like that was probably a divorcees dream. The whole forbidden aspect of such a relationship made it hard to resist, I’m sure. Jimmy snapped the ball to Jeremy and I plowed into Ben. I drove my shoulder right into his chest and lifted him off the ground before knocking him on his ass. I struggled through the defensive line, but Alex fumbled the ball before I got anywhere. Coach Brewer shouted some instructions and we lined up again. Ben looked slightly fearful and he took up his position across from me. I was satisfied with his expression. It meant he feared me, but not enough yet. The Beta male needed to be put in his place. I slammed Ben again, setting him out on his back. I dropped on him and lay full length on top of him. “What’s the matter, pretty boy, can’t take the heat?” I said in a stage whisper. “Get off me,” he spat. I just lay on top of him, keeping him trapped beneath me for a few more moments, letting him know who was in control. Yeah, I bet you do Mrs. Leander, I thought, and then got up. We scrimmaged some more, and then Coach had us passing. He wasn’t happy with Jeremy’s long passes and he wanted the rest of us to practice them as well. Jeremy did the bulk of the passing, but any of us could be called upon to do so at any time. Jimmy and I especially had to be ready to fill in. If Jeremy were injured, Jimmy was the backup and I was next in line. I thought again how wonderful it

Mark A. Roeder

18

would be if Jimmy moved away or something. It would be nice to have him out of my way.

Oliver

I was in the kitchen eating a late second supper of a bologna sandwich with lettuce, cheese, and salad dressing when I thought I heard whining. “Spock?” Spock came trotting into the kitchen, looking expectantly at my sandwich. We made a point to never feed him from the table so he wouldn’t beg, but I got up and pulled out a dog biscuit from the old Hoosier cabinet where Mom kept spices and such things. I tossed it to Spock and he sniffed at it, deciding whether or not it was good enough for him. Spock was a Shih Tzu with a superior attitude. His treats and food were often not up to his standards. I paused, a potato chip half way to my mouth when I heard a high pitched bark from the yard. I flipped on the outside light and looked out the window. There was a puppy running back and forth along the fence, whimpering and barking more. “What the…?” Our small back yard was completely surrounded by a wooden fence. Any space large enough for even a squirrel to crawl through was covered with chicken wire. Dad was always worried that Spock would get out and get hit by a car or hurt by other dogs. Spock wasn’t too bright if he got loose. He would take off running down the street, heedless of cars. He also thought he was big and bad, although he weighed only sixteen pounds or so. I could just picture him jumping on a German Shepherd or Doberman. That’s why we were careful to keep him inside the fence. This new puppy couldn’t have just walked in—someone had dumped him or her. How could anyone do that to a little puppy? - 19 -

Mark A. Roeder

20

I descended the steps that led to the basement and stepped out the back door, Spock refusing to join me, as it was wet outside. I walked along the side of the house and into the back yard. The little puppy caught sight of me and came running. I couldn’t help but grin. She was tiny, only a few weeks old. I folded my arms around her and took her inside. I sat on the kitchen carpet with the puppy. Spock sniffed at her and then gave a low growl as she pawed at him. She tried to play with Spock, yipping, and jumping at him, but he snapped at her, clicking his teeth together in warning. The puppy didn’t seem to notice; she just kept trying to get him to play. Spock retreated a few feet and the puppy bounded into my lap and wiggled contentedly, licking and nipping at my fingers. “You can’t keep it,” said Dad as he walked into the kitchen. “Where did you get it, anyway?” “In the backyard.” “In the backyard?” “Yeah, someone must’ve dumped her.” “Some people…” said Dad. “You call the shelter tomorrow. One dog is enough around here.” “Okay,” I said. I set the puppy down by Spock’s water and food bowls. She drank a little and crunched on some dry dog food, but didn’t seem too hungry. Spock gave me a disdainful look. The puppy nipped at my hand. “Ouch! You’ve got sharp teeth, girl.” I took her to Spock’s toy box in the spare bedroom. It was piled high with little stuffed animals. The puppy pulled an otter from the box and began chewing. I petted her, wishing I could keep her, knowing I couldn’t. I was sleepy. I’d had a hard day at school and then a few hours of work. I changed into my pajamas and made the puppy a little bed on the floor with a fuzzy blanket. I turned off the light and crawled into my own bed. The puppy immediately began whining and soon the whines were yips. I slipped out of bed, scooped her up, and set her down beside me. She licked my face and nipped at me. “Go to sleep, girl.” She settled down within a couple of minutes and snuggled up beside me. I knew it was going to be hard to give her up. I already loved her. The next day, Mom looked after the puppy while I was at school. I called the shelter from Wahlberg’s and discovered it was full. It was one of those shelters that didn’t put dogs to sleep, which was a good thing, but it meant there often wasn’t

Mark A. Roeder

21

room. The pup was put on a waiting list to get in, but who knew how long that would take? “Now what am I gonna do?” I thought out loud. “Huh?” asked Skye, pausing as he restacked bags of cattle feed. I explained about the puppy. It felt good to talk to someone about it, even Skye. He seemed interested, which surprised me. He didn’t say much, but I could tell he was listening. As Skye went back to his work, I considered the situation. I wanted to find Hermione a home as quickly as possible. Hermione, that’s what I’d named her, after Hermione Granger in the Harry Potter books. I couldn’t just keep calling her puppy or girl. Anyway, I knew the faster I could find her a home, the less painful it would be. I knew Dad was right. We couldn’t keep her. She had big feet and that meant she’d be a big dog. It was one thing to have an aloof Shih Tzu running around the house; it was another to have a sixty pound mutt knocking over lamps and digging in the carpet. “Why don’t you put one of those freebie ads in the paper?” said Skye. “Huh?” “For the puppy. You know, free to good home…” “Yeah, that’s a good idea, thanks.” I was also thinking I could make up some flyers and put them in the post office and library and places like that. I’d make a big sign for the front yard too. I thought of something else and called the vet. I’d have a better chance of finding Hermione a home if she had her shots. “Hey, Skye, can you watch things for a while?” I asked, holding my hand over the phone. “I can get the puppy in to see the vet if I can go in fifteen minutes.” “Yeah, sure. I’ll hold the fort, man.” I made the appointment, ran home, raided my bank, and took Hermione to the Verona Pet Clinic. She sat on my lap as we waited, wagging her tail. The lady with a Persian cat remarked on what a beautiful puppy she was. I felt proud, even if she was only my puppy for a little while. The vet had some bad news for me, but not too bad. Hermione had round worms and lice, but both were easily treatable. He fed her the worm medicine with a syringe that had no needle, and she must’ve liked it because she wanted more. He gave me a couple more doses to be given to her—one a day. He also gave me some spray for her lice and said I didn’t need to worry about them getting on me, as dog lice can’t survive on people. They couldn’t even get on Spock very easily. Since Spock didn’t want to have anything to do with Hermione, I doubted it would be a problem.

Mark A. Roeder

22

Hermione also got her first shot and a heartworm-preventive pill. We kept Spock on heartworm pills because heartworms were easy to get and often fatal. I was relieved to find out the bill was only $22.92. The vet didn’t even charge me for an office call, which was usually $15. I think he was being nice since I told him how the puppy had been dumped at our house and how I was trying to find her a home. I felt good about helping her out. She needed someone to look out for her. I took Hermione back home and left her with Mom and then returned to Wahlberg’s. Mr. Selby came in just after I got back, so I was glad I returned when I did. Mr. Selby was really good looking. He was kinda like Skye, only older and nicer. Where Skye seemed kind of stuck on himself, Mr. Selby was just plain friendly. He always told me to call him Ethan, but I wasn’t used to referring to adults by their first names. As usual, Mr. Selby had a big list—a spark-plug for his Ford tractor, a couple of bags of chicken feed, a couple of galvanized buckets, chicken wire, a roll of barbed wire, work gloves, and more. I happily helped him gather it all, chatting with him about his farm and the harvest. I loved the way he didn’t treat me like a kid. When I looked at him, I wished I was older, or he younger, anything to bring our ages closer together. I would’ve dated him if I could, but I doubted he’d be interested at all, even if he was like me. Besides, it was probably illegal or something, since I was just fourteen. Skye helped him load the chicken feed, because it was heavy. Mr. Selby and Skye each grabbed a bag and tossed it on their shoulders like it was nothing. If I tried that I would’ve knocked myself over and then been crushed. Those bags weighed a hundred pounds each! Mr. Selby invited me out to see the farm whenever I wanted and said my parents were welcome too. I told him I’d take him up on it sometime. I was a little shy about going, but I was curious to see his farm. I’d heard a lot about it during the few months I’d worked at Wahlberg’s. I would’ve liked to see more of Mr. Selby too. When I got home, I sat down in the wing back chair in the living room. Hermione pawed for attention so I sat her in my lap and scratched her belly. She wiggled with pleasure. Spock looked on unimpressed. While I petted the puppy, I opened up The Front Runner by Patricia Nell Warren and continued reading. I’d recently discovered books about gay guys on B&N.com and had ordered myself some with a prepaid credit card I bought at the gas station. I was a little nervous that Mom or Dad would ask what I was reading, but they never did, so I was probably worrying for nothing. The cover

Mark A. Roeder

23

didn’t give away that the book was about two guys, but it obviously wasn’t one of the Star Trek novels that my parents were used to seeing me read. I was a big Star Trek fan and had a collection of some 250 Star Trek novels that I’d mostly bought used. I loved escaping into a story about far away places. It helped me to stop feeling so sad and lonely. I loved The Front Runner, although I was only on the fourth chapter. It was cool to read about guys who were like me. Well, I guess they weren’t that much like me, but they were gay, so that was similarity enough. I knew I wasn’t the only gay boy in the world, but sometimes I felt like it. Reading my novel was like having gay friends. There was a whole world between the covers of a book.

Skye

I sat on the couch necking with Candi Cunningham. Her hand was up my shirt, feeling the muscles of my chest. Girls loved my chest. Loud music was blaring and some two or three dozen teenagers milled around the room. Jimmy was having a party while his parents were gone for the weekend. Plenty of beer was being passed around, but I barely touched it. Alcohol worked against muscle growth, so I wanted no part of it. I just drank a little for show. Candi had had a few. I liked the feel of her hand on my chest. Being touched was sexy. I liked making out. It made me feel manly. Having a girl get all turned on by my body was validation of my manhood. Several of ’em wanted to be my girl, but, like I said before, I didn’t have time for a steady. Besides, it was too easy to have a little fun like I was having with Candi. I didn’t need the hassle of a girlfriend. Who needed the commitment and entanglement? The Backstreet Boys came on the radio. “Someone change the station!” I shouted. “That song is so gay!” Actually, I kind of liked their music, but I had a reputation to preserve. Someone laughed and the offending music was banished. “Why do you girls go for that music?” I asked Candi. “I mean, you can like what you like, but…damn.” “They’re cute.” “So you like the way they look and not their music?” “I didn’t say that. I like both, although maybe I’d be less interested in listening to them if they weren’t so hot.” “You like hot, huh?” I asked. - 24 -

Mark A. Roeder

25

She grabbed my right pec under my shirt. “You know I do, Babe.” We went back to making out. We weren’t the only ones. Couples were messing around all over the place. Ben was in a corner just talking to some guys. Maybe he was being faithful to Mrs. Leander, or maybe the rumor was bullshit and he was queer. The party wasn’t as fun as it could’ve been. Candi got sick a little later, and that totally ruined the mood. I didn’t actually see her hurl, but I sure didn’t want to kiss her after she’d done it. Who would? The little beer I drank shot right through me, and I had to go real bad. I climbed the stairs looking for the bathroom. I’d been to Jimmy’s place before, but it looked too much like so many other houses. I tried the first door on the right. It wasn’t the bathroom. I stared at the sight of Jimmy’s taut butt thrusting up and down. He was on top of some girl. I couldn’t see her face because it was buried in the covers, but Jimmy was really going at it. I felt the front of my jeans tighten at the sight of the live sex show. I quietly closed the door before Jimmy spotted me. When he bragged about his conquest in the locker room on Monday, I’d know for sure that, this time at least, he wasn’t lying to impress the guys. I found the bathroom just down the hall, but had trouble going because I was stiff. Walking in on Jimmy and that girl was like looking at a Penthouse, only better because it wasn’t just pictures. I was so turned on by it that I thought about taking care of business right there in Jimmy’s bathroom. Someone pounding on the door ended that idea real quick. I went home pretty soon after that to relieve the pressure and get some real sleep for a change. ✶

✶

✶

✶

Sunday, the day after the party, I had up until two p.m. free. I decadently squandered some of my all too rare free time on sleep, not rising until 10:30. I showered, gave Scott a call and told him I was ready for a workout and then ran downstairs to fix myself oatmeal for breakfast. I only fix oatmeal on Sundays, because that’s the only day I have time. You’re probably thinking it doesn’t take that long to cook oatmeal, but I fix it better than anyone else. I mix in golden raisins, dates, dried cranberries, nutmeg, pumpkin-pie spice, cinnamon, and pecans. Sometimes I add dried pineapple too. It’s totally delicious, doesn’t make me fat, and fuels me up for working out. You should try it sometime. I don’t always have oatmeal on Sundays. Sometimes I have French toast. On those days I usually have Scott over for breakfast.

Mark A. Roeder

26

By the time I’d finished breakfast and brushed my teeth, Scott arrived. Scott was my best friend and had been since first grade. He wasn’t quite the jock I was, but he played soccer, and he was good at it too. Scott had just the build for soccer. He was muscular, but not thickly muscled, which meant he was strong, but lighter than a more heavily built guy like me. That was good for speed and agility, both of which were an asset in soccer. Scott had been lifting with me for a couple of years, and it’d improved his performance on the soccer field dramatically. We stripped off our shirts and got right to it. I put on some tunes and did some rows to warm up. After Scott had taken his turn, I did my first set of chest presses. It felt so good I just about said “ahhhh” out loud. I looked forward to my workouts and enjoyed them immensely. Before I met Coach Brewer when I was about thirteen, I’d worked out too often. Coach was the one who got me to tone it down to just every other day. I’d been lifting most every day before that. I almost didn’t believe him when he told me I’d get better results working out every other day instead of every day, but he was right. He’d also said something about leaving myself hungry for it, so that I’d eagerly anticipate my workouts and wouldn’t grow tired of them. He was right about that too. When I wake up in a morning when I know I’ll be lifting that day, I get all excited and think today is a workout day! Some people might think I’m a freak for thinking like that, but they can just go and…well, I’d better not say. Scott wasn’t as big into working out as I was, but he liked it. We met every Sunday morning for a session, and sometimes he was able to come over during the week. It was harder through the week, however, because Scott had his schedule and I had mine. I liked the timing when Scott was my partner. When I was alone, I had to make myself take a little break between sets, but with Scott there, I had a built-in rest period. I did a set and then he did one. It was perfect. I liked watching Scott as he pressed and curled. Scott was in really good shape. He didn’t have a bod like mine, but he was nicely muscled. I think the male body is a work of art. I don’t mean that in any homo capacity. I’m not saying I get turned on by guys. I think sunsets, lakes, and baby animals are beautiful too, but they don’t give me a hard-on. I mean that I think the male physique is a work of art the way the Greeks thought it was. Scott had wide smooth pecs, nicely proportioned with a good undercut. He had a nicely tapered waist too, even though his abs weren’t as well defined as my own. He had a classic V-shape that looked like it was sculpted by an artist. I could just imagine one of those Greek sculptors making a statue of Scott.

Mark A. Roeder

27

I was fascinated by the way his body moved as he worked out—the way the various muscles tensed and flexed. I was intently interested in the human body and the way the muscles groups interacted. I guess that was just part of being serious about working out. I liked knowing exactly which muscles were being strengthened by which exercise. When I worked out alone, I watched my own body in the mirrored door of my closet, but it was cool to have Scott to watch and be able to compare myself to him. I was forever comparing myself to other guys. I think that’s something every boy did. Scott and I switched off on the Bowflex, working through our entire routine. I felt energized, as I always did during a workout. It was a feeling that lasted for a good while after I finished too. I don’t know if it was endorphins or just the feeling I got from being all toned. I loved that feeling, being aware of my muscles, my own body. It made me feel so alive. Working out gave me another feeling too—it turned me on. It didn’t matter whether I was exercising alone, or with Scott, or with the whole football team, it always got me excited. That brings up something else Scott and I did together, although I’m not sure if I want to tell about that. On second thought, I guess it’s okay. Most guys probably do it. It’s not gay unless you touch each other, which we never did. At the end of our workout Scott rubbed himself and gave me the look, which always ended up with Scott sitting on the edge of the bed and me sitting at my desk chair, both of us with our shorts and boxers down. Sometimes, we talked about girls while we did it. I told Scott about Candi and her roving hands from the night before, although I left out the part about her hurling. Scott and I usually checked each other out while we were doing it. I don’t mean we stared or even watched each other, but we stole quick glances, like all guys do in the locker room and showers. I was pleased I was bigger than Scott, not that it mattered all that much, but it kind of made me feel more masculine having a bit more manhood than he did. When we finished, we tossed the sticky tissues into the trash, pulled our boxers and shorts back up and that was that. We never talked about it afterwards. What was there to talk about? We were just relieving a little tension. Sometimes, I felt a little bit guilty about our after-working-out sessions, but we’d been doing it so long it seemed natural. I’d thought about calling a halt to it, but there was no real reason to do so. It’s not like it hurt anyone or made us queer. True, I’d never tell anyone what we did, but there was no shame in it. And besides, I needed the release after a workout. If Scott wasn’t there, I just did it myself, unless I felt like tormenting myself and holding out until later. Some-

Mark A. Roeder

28

times, I made myself wait, because when I finally did it I throbbed like crazy and my orgasm was so intense I thought it would make me pass out. Scott went home. I had a quick lunch and then took an extremely short nap. When the alarm clock went off, I changed into my jeans and t-shirt and set off for work. On Sundays, I usually worked from two until eight. Oliver was already there, which was no surprise at all. He seemed a bit upset or worked up about something, but I didn’t ask. I figured he’d tell me if he really wanted me to know. I wondered if it was about the puppy. Ethan Selby came in to get some horse feed and I helped him load his truck. Ethan was in Wahlberg’s a lot. He was our best customer. I had a certain admiration for him. He’d been the wrestler in high school back in his day and was still built better than anyone else I knew, even Coach Brewer and Jimmy. It totally blew me away when I found out he was queer. That was right after I heard about Coach Brewer. Before that time, I thought all gay guys were soft, weak, and effeminate. Discovering that Coach Brewer and Ethan were queer kind of rocked my world. I didn’t care who they slept with. I’d have admired anyone who was that strong. Avery rode in with Mr. Selby and stayed after he left. Avery worked on the Selby farm now and then as kind of a part-time job. Avery was one of the new guys. He’d just started at school in August. He was on the football team, but he lacked the size to be really good. That was okay. It took all kinds. Coach Brewer had been training him as a place-kicker and he had quite a leg on him. He was accurate too. That was gonna come in handy. Sometimes, a single point can win a game. “So, what brings you to the cultural center of Verona?” I asked, as Avery sat on a stool at the counter. “Extreme boredom.” “I hear there’s a lot of that going around.” “Yeah, tell me about it. Hey, before I forget again…my cousin is having a Halloween party next month, a costume thing, you wanna come?” “Um, where’s this party at?” “At the house.” Uh oh, I thought. Avery lived with his cousin in the Graymoor Mansion—the biggest, scariest house you ever saw. I hadn’t been inside and I had no desire to see it. Everyone had heard about the Graymoor Mansion—it was notorious. I couldn’t believe Avery actually lived there. “Um…”

Mark A. Roeder

29

“Don’t tell me you’re scared?” said Avery, with a condescending grin. “It’s not that bad of a place, Skye. I sleep there every night and nothing has ever killed me yet—I swear!” “No. No, it’s not that. I was just trying to remember if I’m doing anything else that night.” “I haven’t told you when yet, but the party is on Halloween.” Avery turned to Oliver. “How about you, wanna come?” “Sure,” said Oliver. “I’d love to.” That definitely put me on the spot, if Oliver wasn’t afraid to go, I sure couldn’t wimp out. “I assumed it would be on Halloween, Avery,” I said, trying to cover. “Anyway…sure, I’d love to go.” “Cool, it’s a masked party. No one is supposed to reveal their identity. Marshall suggested it. I think he believes ghosts will show up and dance among the living.” Avery laughed and I joined him, although I wasn’t really in the mood. Graymoor scared me. “You know Marshall, right?” “Yeah, black hair, kind of a freak…carries an armload of books on ghosts, witchcraft, and séances wherever he goes—probably sleeps in a coffin?” Avery laughed again. “Yeah, you know him all right! Actually, he’s pretty cool once you get past the freakiness. Then again, it’s his freakiness that kind of makes him cool.” “So what are you wearing to this party?” I asked. “Aww, I can’t tell you that, old buddy. If I did, you’d know who I was. It’s all hush-hush.” “I guess I can handle that. Hey, how are you liking the team?” “Better than I thought, but all that running kills!” “It’s okay once you get used to it. I’ve seen you kick, you’re way better than any other place kicker we’ve had on the team.” “Thanks. I’ve never done that before. I never played any sport before. I kind of stayed away from the sports thing at my old school. I thought all the jocks were just jerks and…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” “It’s okay,” I said. “Sometimes jocks get a bad reputation. Occasionally we even deserve it.” “No, really, I’m sorry. I was a total jerk myself not so long ago and I don’t want to let myself fall back into that. I’ve changed.” “Yeah? What monumentous event brought about your miraculous transformation?”

Mark A. Roeder

30

“It’s a long story and believe me, even if I was willing to tell you about it, you don’t wanna know.” Avery seemed almost frightened as he said the words. A chill actually crept up my spine. “You know, you’re almost as freaky as Marshall sometimes,” I said. Avery grinned. “You have no idea.” Our conversation turned to the upcoming game. Oliver completely ignored us, although he seemed excited to have been invited to the party. He was invisible sometimes. I’d almost forgotten he was there as I talked to Avery, until someone came in looking for replacement tines for their garden tiller. Oliver handled it. When Avery departed, I kept thinking about our game against the Razorbacks on Friday night. I was only the backup backup quarterback, but I knew I’d get to play as an offensive tackle and as a receiver for a part of the game. I was extremely fast for my size and had a real talent for catching the ball, if I do say so myself. Part of me yearned for the limelight of the quarterback position, but I didn’t really need it. I was popular enough as it was; did I really need to be even more visible? I didn’t think so. Still, it would’ve been kinda cool being the man on the team. If my chance came, I sure wouldn’t turn it down.

Oliver

I paced up and down the street three times, passing the old deteriorated building, trying to force myself to go inside. It was getting close to six p.m. on Sunday and I’d asked off work so I could be here, so why wasn’t I going in? I wondered if Skye could handle Wahlberg’s all by himself. I guess he wasn’t totally incompetent, although I pictured him unable to get the cash register open or forgetting how to figure sales tax. Maybe I should go back and check on him, I thought. No, you don’t. You took off for a reason. I’d already walked around town, putting up a few more flyers in hopes of finding Hermione a good home. That and the sign I’d placed in our front yard was all I’d been able to do. I called in an ad, but it wouldn’t come out until next week. A little part of me hoped I wouldn’t be able to find her a home. Surely Mom and Dad wouldn’t make me just put her out on the street. I knew staying with us wouldn’t be the best thing for her, however, even though it’s what I wanted. Focus, Oliver. I was avoiding the problem that stood before me. I swallowed and made myself walk straight to the door. One step at a time. I just kept moving forward, reached out, and pushed it open. I was jittery as I walked in. Who would be there? Would they be shocked to see me? Would I be welcomed or treated like an outsider? I walked down the hall to the first open doorway. I could hear voices coming from inside. I forced myself forward. There was no turning back now. It had taken me weeks to work up the courage to come so far and I wasn’t wimping out. I hesitantly stepped into the room and immediately relaxed, even though I was shocked. Mr. Selby, Ethan, I corrected myself, was sitting in an old easy chair. - 31 -

Mark A. Roeder

32

Was he gay? I almost couldn’t believe it. Of course, he didn’t have to be gay to run the youth group, but it seemed likely. I would’ve never guessed. I’d heard rumors, but I thought they were just that. More mismatched chairs were sitting in a circle facing him, some occupied, some not. I spotted Sean and Nick immediately. I wasn’t surprised to see them. They were the only openly gay boys at school after all. I was a little taken back by some of the others. I couldn’t believe it, Clay Vanderhausen was sitting there! I really liked him. I had no idea he was like me. If I would’ve known he belonged to the gay youth group, I would’ve come sooner. Mmmmmm. Most of the guys and girls there were teens, but there was one older guy, other than Ethan. He was very cute and had blond hair. I’d seen him come into the store with Ethan. I wondered if maybe they weren’t a couple. There were four more boys and three girls, so there were thirteen of us all together. Another boy came in right after me and made it fourteen. I wasn’t expecting so many people. Verona was a small town after all. Ethan smiled at me and I went a bit pink. Never before had I been in a situation where people knew I was gay. I guess I could’ve just been comfortable with gay people and be attending this meeting out of principle for all any of these people knew, so I guess that meant that not every one here had to be gay. But I bet most of the kids there were queer. I took a seat near, but not next to, Clay. “Let’s get started,” said Ethan. “I see we have someone new. We’re glad to have you here, Oliver. You’re probably feeling nervous right now, but just remember everyone here was new at one time or another. This is a safe place. Nothing you say here goes beyond these walls. We’re here to support each other and have fun.” I smiled and nodded, but didn’t speak. My voice didn’t seem to be working just then. It felt good to have someone who already knew my name. I didn’t know anyone else very well. I knew of Sean and Nick, but I didn’t know them. They were both smiling at me and it helped set me at ease. Some of the kids shared problems they had with their parents, brothers, sisters, or friends. Only Sean and Nick were out, so much of the conversation was about acceptance, or rather worrying about not being accepted. As I sat there, I thought I’m not alone. It made me feel more at ease, but I couldn’t help feeling a bit like an outsider—not because I was new, but because I was fat. Sean was a bit pudgy, but looked way better than I did. The others ranged from average to cute. I was definitely the ugliest boy there. I looked at Clay. A boy like him would never be interested in me.

Mark A. Roeder

33

“What really bothers me,” said a girl I didn’t recognize “is the way ‘gay’ is used as a putdown. I’m always hearing my friends say that song’s gay or that party was so gay. It hurts my feelings and the worst part is I can’t say anything about it because I’m not ready for them to know about me.” “I know exactly how you feel.” I was shocked to find it was me who had spoken. Oh God, everyone is looking at me. “It’s like…people don’t even think about saying it,” I stammered. “I think most of the time it’s not even a gay putdown, it’s just something people say, but it’s still wrong. It still hurts.” “We live in a society where dumb-asses have taught everyone to hate us,” said Clay. The discussion continued, but I mainly sat back and listened. I stole a few looks at Clay. There was something about him. He wasn’t incredibly cute. His build was average, his hair ordinary brown, but when I looked at him it was just…I dunno…I just wanted to walk down the street holding his hand. We had cake and soft drinks when the meeting ended, although it really wasn’t over, because everyone stuck around and played Monopoly or Uno or just talked. I had a small piece of cake and went for the Diet Coke. I didn’t want Clay to see me pigging out. I feel very self-conscious when eating around other people, like they are looking at me thinking yeah, you really need that, fat ass. Just thinking about it made me cry. I wished for the millionth time I wasn’t fat. After the meeting I walked home, feeling better because there were others out there like me. I knew. I’d seen them. I’d talked to them. One of them was even Clay! Not that it would help me. I was glad to find he was one of us, but that didn’t mean I had a chance with him. I wondered if maybe I shouldn’t go on another diet. It seemed kind of hopeless. All the others had sure failed. Even when I dropped a few pounds I couldn’t keep them off. They always came right back, like they were attached to a boomerang. Depression. It was coming. I could feel it gathering over my head like a dark cloud waiting to dump its hoarded moisture on me. It was almost a physical feeling. I could feel it at the edges of my mouth, drawing my lips down into a frown. I could feel it in my chest too, kind of like when I was nervous, but it was a worse feeling than that, much worse. When it got really bad, I just wanted to die. How many times had I prayed to God to just let me die when I was asleep? I usually felt better the next day, though. Sometimes, I was even thankful I hadn’t bit it during the night, but the depression always returned. It wasn’t too late when I got home, but I curled up in my bed with Hermione, petting her and trying to teach her not to chew on my fingers. Her little teeth were so sharp. The vet said she was between ten and twelve weeks old. It was

Mark A. Roeder

34

mid-September. That meant she was born sometime in mid to late June. Just think of it, before the summer, she didn’t even exist. Hermione licked my face and curled up beside me. I knew I was loved, by my parents mainly, but right then I felt like Hermione was the only one. I loved her too. I prayed I’d find her a home soon because every hour with her drew us closer, and already I didn’t know if I could bear to part with her. Sometimes life truly sucked.

Skye

Wednesday’s practice began with running and then moved onto working out in the school gym. The equipment was pretty decent, much better than it was my freshman year. The old machines were ancient, probably from the 1950s or something, if they even had weight machines that far back. It seemed to me that guys were in a lot better shape now than they were in the past. I’d seen some old Tarzan movies on TV, and the guy playing Tarzan wasn’t all that buff. He had some muscle on him, but his definition was pathetic and he was supposed to be stronger than about anyone else. It was the same with the old Batman and Superman series. The old Superman in particular looked like he had a gut. It wasn’t until Christopher Reeve that Superman started looking like I thought he should look. Val Kilmer was the first Batman who didn’t have to hide behind the suit. I’d have made a better Batman than any of the guys before Kilmer; that was for sure. Jimmy and I stuck close while we were working out. We did bench presses with free weights and we usually didn’t trust anyone else to spot us. I eyed the weight plates as Jimmy loaded up the bar—250. Jimmy could bench more than anyone else on the team and he was only sixteen. I could handle 225, but I just couldn’t hack much more. I sure couldn’t do 250, no way. I wanted to be lifting the same as Jimmy more than anything, but I wasn’t stupid. I knew I’d likely hurt myself if I tried, and then I’d be screwed. I’d have to spend weeks recuperating and working my way back up to 225, and by then Jimmy might be up to 260. Someday, I was gonna catch up and even pass him, but I wasn’t ready, not quite yet. - 35 -

Mark A. Roeder

36

Jimmy had such an awesome chest. It was the envy of all the guys. I was about as serious as you could get about working out, but even I didn’t look like that. I wondered how he managed it. Did he have some kind of genetic advantage? I’d never seen his dad, so I didn’t know if he was built, but maybe Jimmy inherited something from him. Maybe he did something in his workouts that I didn’t— something that gave him an edge. We talked about our workouts now and then, but each of us had jealously guarded secrets we wouldn’t share. Jimmy completed his set and stood, his pecs tensing and flexing with his slightest movement. He was perfectly toned. I reluctantly pulled a few plates off the bar, feeling slightly inferior as I did so. I reminded myself, however, that only Jimmy could outdo me. The rest of the pack was struggling to keep up. Jimmy and I were the Alpha males. Maybe I was deluding myself. There was only one Alpha male in a pack, not two, and Jimmy was definitely it. As much as I hated to admit it, I was number two. Why did that make me feel inferior? True, I guess I was inferior to Jimmy, but it gave me a feeling of general inferiority as if instead of being number two, I was near the bottom of the food chain. I didn’t like that feeling, which is one reason I yearned to be number one. I took my place on the bench and grabbed the bar. I lowered it to my chest and pressed up, focusing my attention to fully extend my arms, without locking my elbows. I topped out and then lowered the bar to my chest once more, controlling the downward inertia. This was where my Bowflex was superior. With free weights, lowering the bar after a press was nothing more than controlling the descent so that gravity didn’t slam the bar into my chest. It was the same with a machine. My Bowflex made me work a lot harder. It exerted a constant pressure even after the press. I completed my fifteen reps and stepped to the side so Jimmy could set the bar to his weight again. I felt strong and pumped, exhilarated and alive, but still not as strong as Jimmy. I noticed Avery watching and motioned him over. “Damn,” he said, looking at all the plates on the bar. One word said it all. I smiled. “How’s your workout coming?” I asked. “It’s…okay, I guess. I’m just doing what Coach tells me to do. I feel so pathetic. Everyone can bench more than I can.” “How long have you been lifting?” I asked. “Since school started, so like, three weeks.” “I started when I was 12. How ’bout you, Jimmy?”

Mark A. Roeder

37

“Thirteen,” he gasped at the end of a rep. “See? We’ve got a head start on you. About all the guys in here have been lifting for a couple of years. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” “Yeah, maybe you’re right, but I can only bench about 75 pounds.” Wow, that is pathetic, I thought, but I said, “That’s not bad for a beginner. You just gotta keep doing it and you’ll be lifting with the big boys in no time at all.” “Oh, I’m a big boy,” said Avery, patting his crotch. “I’ve seen you in the showers, Avery,” I said, indicating with my tone of voice that I thought he was anything but big. “Shut up!” He laughed. Jimmy was benching again and Avery watched him with widened eyes. “I dunno,” he said, “I’m not into this working out stuff all that much. I used to think it was lame, but then I used to be a jerk.” “You don’t have to be into it, but it’ll help your performance on the team, you’ll look better, and you’ll feel better.” “I guess it won’t kill me.” “Probably not,” I said. Jimmy finished his reps and we set up for Avery. “If you do 75 on a machine, we’d better try you out at 60 on the free-weights,” said Jimmy. “Free weights are harder,” I explained, as Jimmy showed Avery how to properly change weight plates. “Machines do part of the work for you. With free weights, you have to use part of your strength to keep the bar balanced and under control.” Avery looked a bit apprehensive. “Don’t worry,” said Jimmy, “we’ll spot you. Always use a spotter with free weights.” Avery lay back on the bench and I showed him the proper grip and placement of his hands. He lifted the bar, lowered it to his chest, and then pressed it. He lowered the bar a bit too fast, but he got it under control and pressed it again. “Don’t lock your elbows at the top,” I said. It was a temptation for beginners—a way to rest, but it could lead to injury. Avery kept going. He got a little shaky on rep eight. “Just do ten reps. You can work up to fifteen later,” I said. Avery finished his set and got up from the bench. He smiled shyly. “Good job,” said Jimmy, as I loaded the bar with my 225. Avery watched as I knocked out my last set of fifteen reps. My eyes weren’t on him, but I had little doubt his were on my chest as they had been on Jimmy’s. It

Mark A. Roeder

38

was cool—guys were forever measuring themselves up against others. It made me feel good to know that Avery was probably thinking I wish I looked like that as he watched me work out. The weight room was humid and warm and smelled of sweat and socks. Avery was the only guy in the room wearing a shirt, but he meekly pulled it off as his own perspiration dampened the cloth. He didn’t have a bad build—no fat, decent definition on what muscle he did have, not strong or built, but he had a good body type for putting on mass. I told him as much. “Cool,” he said, “I don’t think I could be dedicated enough to look like one of you guys, but I wouldn’t mind to be stronger.” “You will be,” I said. Jimmy finished his set and then Avery did another. It was a good thing I was spotting him because he lost it on rep nine. Trembling, he extended his left elbow too far in his effort to press the weight and he lost control. The bar plummeted toward his chest, but I caught it and lifted it back onto the supports. Avery was embarrassed. “Don’t worry about it, dude,” said Jimmy. “It happens to everyone. Make your goal to complete two sets and then work up from there. It’s not where you start, it’s where you finish.” We moved to the machines for butterflies and continued Avery’s education. He seemed grateful for the attention we were giving him. I enjoyed it myself. I always liked getting other guys into lifting weights. I knew what it’d done for me, and it made me feel good about myself to get someone else headed down the same road. I wondered if maybe I should become a coach like Coach Brewer when I grew up. Ben Tyler kept fearfully looking in our direction. Yeah, that’s right, I thought, you know you’re just a Beta male. I watched him while he was doing lats. Ben had a good build. If he kept at it, he might catch up to Jimmy and me, but we’d probably be out of school before he managed it. Maybe not, though—Greg Whitmore had sure whipped himself into shape. I’d never given him a second look last year, but he’d come back from summer vacation ripped. I don’t know how he did it. It was like he changed from ordinary to built overnight. Working out made me feel aggressive. I had a whole hour before I was due at work, so I got some of the guys together and we played a pickup game of football after practice. Jimmy and Jeremy couldn’t stay, but about a dozen guys did. I was quarterback for my team and Ben quarterbacked for the other. It was fun to play without being too serious about it. We were all a little edgy about our upcoming game against the Razorbacks and it felt good to just relax.

Mark A. Roeder

39

We were making good yardage when Ben somehow managed to intercept one of my passes. I don’t know how he did it. I’d had a clear shot at Glen. The ball should’ve dropped right in his hands. It looked like it was going to do just that, but then Ben flew up out of nowhere and snagged it. He ran through our defense and I charged for him. Ben was fast, but I was faster. I grabbed him around the mid-section and took him down hard. He maintained his hold on the ball, but I stopped him dead in his tracks. I kept him pinned for a few more seconds than was necessary to send the message that I didn’t care for the smirk I’d seen on his face as he intercepted my pass. I gave up my spot as quarterback to Greg for a while, just so I could position myself to get at Ben. He’d suddenly grown cocky so it was time to take him down a notch. Order had to be maintained in the pack. My chance didn’t come right away. Ben was too good at getting rid of the ball. I could hardly tackle him when he wasn’t in possession. I drew pleasure from the fact that he was working hard to pass the ball as quickly as possible. He seemed to sense I was coming for him. I got him near the end of our game. His eyes darted around wildly as he searched for a receiver, but I cut through the defense and tackled him, slamming my shoulder into his chest with as much force as I could muster. The ball went careening into the air and Ben landed on his back with a jolt. I was on top of him. I’d knocked the wind out of him. I lay on him, pinning him with my weight, and stared into his eyes. I whispered a message meant only for his ears: “Don’t get cocky, pretty boy, or you’ll get hurt.” I pressed down hard on his shoulders and I raised myself up. He grimaced in pain. I stood and turned my back on him. I’d read a mixture of anger and fear in his eyes. If he had the balls to jump me as I walked away, I’d clock him. The attack never came and it was no surprise—Ben didn’t have the nads to take me on.

Oliver

I walked into Wahlberg’s feeling like I’d just lost my best friend. “You’re late,” said Skye, but then he looked at me again. “What’s the matter?” “I found a home for Hermione,” I said. “That’s what you wanted, right?” “Yes. No. Well, that’s what had to be. It’s what was best for her, I guess.” My eyes got all watery. “Are you all right?” I shook my head as tears fell from my eyes. “I miss her.” It was hard to see through the tears, but Skye had an expression on his face I’d never seen before—compassion. Maybe he wasn’t quite the jerk I thought. “I’m sorry, man. It’s easy to get attached to them, isn’t it, especially with those puppy dog eyes?” “Yeah.” “Did you find her a good home?” “Yeah, I feel real good about the family that took her. The little girl seemed really sweet and the dad was real nice too. They said they already had three dogs, so she’ll have plenty of others to play with. My dog didn’t like her very much. He’s kind of grouchy.” “You did a good thing, Oliver.” I nodded. “Thanks.” “Now, why don’t you help me move these cream separator parts into the back. We’re going to need more room for all those salt blocks you ordered and I really don’t think anyone’s gonna come for separator parts.” - 40 -

Mark A. Roeder

41

“I don’t think anyone has since 1920.” I smiled. Skye was trying to get me busy so I wouldn’t think so much about my puppy. I appreciated it. I missed Hermione when I climbed into bed that night. She’d slept with me every single night since I’d found her in our back yard. I missed her so much. It was all the little things, like the way it took me a few minutes to get her settled down for bed, or the way she greeted me when I’d been gone—so happy to see me she couldn’t contain herself, or the way she decided it was time to get up when I got up to use the bathroom at one or two a.m. She licked and nipped at me then and I had to pet and cuddle her until she calmed down enough to sleep once more. She was always so excited and happy. I felt bad for giving her away. She was only with me a few days, but she probably thought this was going to be her home forever, and then I sent her somewhere else. I wished I had a way to let her know that I gave her up because I had to and not because I didn’t love her. I missed her so bad sometimes I about cried, or did cry like in front of Skye. I knew Hermione would be happy in her new home, though. She would probably adjust to it quicker than I’d adjust to her being gone. I wondered if she’d remember me as the months passed. I hoped she wasn’t missing me. I figured the little girl would love and pet her so much that even if she did miss me, she would still be okay. I hoped so. I wanted Hermione to be happy. I had myself near tears again when I heard a scratching at the side of my bed. It was Spock. “How are ya, boy?” Spock jumped into bed with me, which was quite unusual. Generally, he only hopped in bed if there was a thunderstorm. He was terrified of thunder. I think he sensed I was hurting, though. I hugged him and he gave me a rare Spock kiss. I smiled as he curled up beside me. I loved him. I knew I’d miss Hermione, especially for the first few days, but I’d found her a good home. She would have a long and happy life, playing with the little girl and the other dogs. I’d done a good thing and I still had my Spock. I appreciated him more than I ever had before.

Skye

It was Friday night and we’d just taken the field. Fans filled most of the stands. Bright lights bathed the green grass and the scent of hot dogs was in the air. It was warm and I was already sweating under my pads and jersey. Jeremy was setting up the play. I’d be receiving, if all went well. We lined up against the Razorbacks. They were big boys, bigger than I remembered, but my task wasn’t to block, it was to evade and break into the clear. Jimmy snapped the ball and I darted for an opening that unfortunately closed just as I reached it. Two huge Razorbacks slammed me from both sides. It was like being hit by a couple of trucks. I went down. It was war. Our opponents were tough, but we were no pansies. I liked a good fight. It was better than an easy victory. I wanted to win—bad, but the fight was half the fun. That’s what football is all about—knocking your opponent on his ass, proving you’re more man than he is. I marked one of the guys who had blocked me and went for him. I launched myself at him the moment Jeremy had the ball and slammed him out of my way. I resisted the temptation to drop upon him with all my weight and instead stumbled forward as my inertia carried me beyond him. I broke into the clear and bolted up the field. The pursuit was hot, but my powerful legs propelled me forward. I turned and Jeremy passed. I plucked the ball out of the air and kept right on running. The goal line grew closer and closer. I could hear someone behind me, but didn’t spare him a glance. I could tell just by the sound of his labored breathing that he was falling behind. My attention was focused on the lone defender before me. He was running at me, ready to take me down. I darted to the left just as he lunged for me. It was a - 42 -

Mark A. Roeder

43

tricky move as he was cutting across my path to the left himself. The logical direction would’ve been right, but my opponent knew that as well as I. My illogic threw him and I just slipped past him and ran on toward the end zone. My feet raced across the field. My heart pounded in my chest. I ran across the goal line and basked in the cheers of the crowd. There was nothing quite like football. That was as good as it got for V.H.S. Avery kicked the ball between the goal posts for an extra point, but it was the last point we scored in the whole game. We just couldn’t make it through their defense, and their offense just plain outclassed us. I dug in and fought like mad, but the Razorbacks were just plain too much for us. We walked off the field—defeated. One of our opponents talked shit after the game in the parking lot. He was going off on Jeremy, saying shit like he had no arm and threw like a girl. Jeremy was blowing the guy off, but I’d had enough of him. I grabbed his shoulder, whipped him around, and rammed my fist into his jaw. He took a swing at me, but I punched him in the gut and he went down. “Not so tough off the field, are you?” I said. “Dude, let’s go,” said Avery. Angry Razorbacks were swarming around like hornets. I was ready to stay and fight, but Avery was probably right. I didn’t know how many of my teammates would join in. I might’ve found myself taking on four or five guys all by myself—not a smart move. Avery didn’t have a ride so I offered and he accepted. I didn’t take him straight home. It was Friday night and I didn’t have to work. Mr. Wahlberg was good about giving me game nights off. I was sure Oliver could handle the place by himself. It’s not like it was Wal-Mart. We got to talking about how Avery lived in a haunted house and he confided in me that he’d seen ghosts in there. If Marshall had told me, I would’ve just dismissed him as a nut case, but Avery seemed stable enough. I didn’t know him real well since he’d only started school in August, but he seemed okay. He was a guy who didn’t seem like he’d put up with much shit and I respected that. He had a tough edge to him I liked. He reminded me a little of me. “Have you ever seen a ghost?” asked Avery. I considering lying and saying I hadn’t, which is what I usually did on those ultra rare occasions when it came up, but Avery seemed so dead serious about having seen ghosts I felt safe in telling him about my limited experience. “Just once,” I said. “It was when I was nine. My uncle came into my room and sat down on the edge of my bed one night. It wasn’t all that strange because he often did that when he was staying with us. We were pretty close. What was kind

Mark A. Roeder

44

of odd was that he told me to take care of my mom and to help her not be too sad. I looked down for a second and when I looked up again he was gone. “The next morning I got up, went downstairs, and asked Mom when Uncle Jake got in. She gave me this real weird look and asked what I was talking about. I told her he’d come and sat on my bed during the night. “The phone rang then. Mom answered and pretty soon she was crying. After she hung up she told me Uncle Jake had been killed in a car wreck during the night. “It kind of freaked me out, because Uncle Jake was dead when he visited me, although I wasn’t afraid of him when he was alive, so I guess I didn’t need to be afraid of him after he was dead. Anyway, that’s the only time I saw a ghost. I’m sure I didn’t dream it, especially since he died that very night.” “Marshall told me something about visits from the recently dead,” said Avery. “He said that sometimes they come to deliver messages right after they die, before they go on to wherever they go. You ought to ask him about it. He knows all about that stuff.” “No way! And don’t you tell anyone what I told you. I know what I saw, but most people who see shit like that are crazy. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m nuts. I have a reputation to protect. I’ll kick your ass if you tell!” “Chill out, Skye, I won’t say a word, especially not to Marshall. If I told him he’d be wanting to interview you about it.” “No thanks.” “Hey, we may do a séance at the Halloween bash. Sean’s against the idea, but I think it would be really cool.” “I dunno,” I said, “isn’t that house scary enough without doing something like that?” “Scary is the idea. It’s a Halloween party after all.” We cruised around town, passing several times by the park where all the kids parked their cars by the street and watched everyone else drive by. Verona was so fucking exciting. “Um…I was wanting to ask you something,” said Avery, hesitantly. “I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of a girl, or maybe even hook me up with one of your spares.” I grinned. How did I get my reputation? I was as virginal as most of the guys at school, but everyone just assumed I had my own little harem. It was an assumption I encouraged. It didn’t hurt my rep when others thought I got laid on a regular basis. To be honest, I barely knew where to stick it in, but no one else was going to know that.

Mark A. Roeder

45

“What kind of girl do you want?” “Slutty.” We both burst out laughing, although I had little doubt he was serious. “A nice girl would be okay, too, but I’m wanting some action.” “You and every other boy around.” “Yeah, I guess so. I’m just getting tired of my cousin getting all he wants while I have to do without. Besides, I need it, man.” “Don’t we all. There’s always…” I made a jerking motion with my hand. “Yeah, but I’ve done enough of that to last a lifetime. I want the real thing.” “What’s it like living with your cousin? I mean, he doesn’t do stuff with his boyfriend in front of you, does he?” “Well, they used to, just to fuck with me, but that was back when I was kind of a dick. I’ve seem ’em kiss a few times, but that’s about it. It doesn’t weird me out too much anymore.” “I think it might weird me out.” “It’s not so bad, once you get used to the idea. That kind of thing’s not for me, but it takes all kinds, you know? Sean and Nick have been really cool to me and that’s what matters.” “Yeah, I guess so.” I pulled into the parking lot by the park. “What are we doing?” “You want a girl right?” “Yeah.” “Then hold onto your nuts, we’re going for a ride.” Avery looked apprehensive but tagged along. To be honest, I think he was scared, but he wasn’t about to let on in front of me. I walked toward the girls I’d spotted from the street. There were a couple I knew were easy targets. I’d never done either of them, but I’d made out with both and I knew they were interested. I didn’t think it would be too hard to set Avery up with one of them. I just had to decide which. Terri and Candi were standing with some other girls from school. I knew Candi was hot for me. I could’ve nailed her at Jeremy’s party if I’d wanted, and if she hadn’t hurled. Her barf-a-rama was in the past, so it wasn’t a turnoff anymore. When you thought about it, everyone had hurled at some point in their life. If I disqualified potential conquests on that account, I’d stay a virgin for sure. Terri was eyeing me just about as hard as Candi was when Avery and I walked up, but she did spare Avery a few glances and I saw a glimmer of interest there. Terri was definitely slutty, at least that was her reputation. I knew many reputa-

Mark A. Roeder

46

tions weren’t true, but hers was likely accurate. I’d heard stories from the guys, not that that meant a whole lot. Guys lied about sexual conquests with wild abandon. Candi sidled up to me, and I put my arm around her waist. Terri wasn’t pleased with the turn of events, but it had the desired affect of turning her attention to Avery. She moved closer to him as we talked, and it wasn’t too long before she was almost leaning on him. I widened my eyes at Avery. He caught on and put his arm around Terri. I suggested we go for a ride and we all piled into my Cutlass. I just drove around town for a while with Candi practically sitting in my lap. Her hands began to roam and I liked it. The encounter was more about getting Avery some action than it was about me, however. When I looked in the rearview mirror, I realized I had little to worry about. Avery and Terri were making out like nobody’s business. Candi dropped her hand into my lap and from that point on I forgot Avery was there. Before I wrecked my car, I decided to pull onto the lane near the graveyard and park. I turned to Candi, and her lips were locked to mine before I could get my seatbelt undone. I didn’t pay any attention to what was going on in the back seat. I just didn’t care. Candi’s hand was controlling me completely. In no time at all she had my shorts and boxers pulled down and her hand was busy making me moan. Similar sounds were coming from the backseat. Candi moved at light speed. She didn’t take her top off, but she wiggled out of her shorts and panties and was lying on top of me. It wasn’t entirely comfortable, but I was beyond caring. I very nearly made a serious, serious mistake. Candi wanted it and I wanted to give it to her. There was just one problem—I didn’t have any protection. When I mumbled something about it Candi said she didn’t care. My body was screaming go for it, but my mind thankfully stepped in and said you aren’t ready to be a father. I reluctantly said no. Candi got all upset and asked if there was something wrong with her—why didn’t I want her and all that crap. I explained that I did want her, but it wasn’t worth the risk. That pissed her off and she became unreasonable. She climbed off me and demanded I take her back to the park. There I was, on the verge, and I didn’t even get to finish! It was maddening. “All right! I’ll take you back! Don’t have a cow!”

Mark A. Roeder

47

That, of course, pissed Candi off further, but by that point I didn’t really care. It was obvious that I wasn’t going to be getting any more action from her. I started up the engine and drove back to the park. After we dropped the girls off and Avery climbed back in front, I apologized. “I’m sorry, man. I hope I didn’t ruin things for you.” “No way!” said Avery smiling. He held up a small piece of paper. “I got her phone number. She likes me, dude. This is gonna go far!” I slammed my head back against the head-rest several times. “This is so frustrating,” I said. “I can’t believe she just stopped like that. If only I’d had some protection stashed away…” “You’ll get her next time, I’m sure,” said Avery with admiration. “Yeah, but I needed it this time and I still do!” Avery laughed. I took Avery home. He asked me in, but I told him I had to be getting back. The truth was, I was a little too chicken to set foot in Graymoor. I didn’t like that, but I just wasn’t ready. I promised myself that I’d enter the haunted house on Halloween at the latest.

Oliver

I sat behind the counter at Wahlberg’s, eyeing the jar of salt-water taffy, free to all customers—and me. I was starving. I’d only been dieting for a few hours and I felt like I hadn’t eaten in a week. Rice cakes! What sadist psycho invented them anyway? It was like eating those packing peanuts, although I think the Styrofoam peanuts would’ve tasted better. If only I could put some peanut butter and jelly on them—the rice cakes, that is, not the packing peanuts. I tried to encourage myself. I thought of what Skye looked like without a shirt. No, that didn’t help. I didn’t even want to look like that. He was too muscled. He’d taken things too far. If he kept going, he’d look like one of those nasty bodybuilders with all those veins—ewww! I just wanted to be not fat. I thought about Clay. Yeah, that’s what I wanted to look like—no pudginess. I sighed thinking of Clay. The next gay youth group meeting was coming up soon. I’d already asked Mr. Wahlberg if I could have off. He was so good about letting me off when I wanted, but then again I’d never asked off before going to my first youth group meeting. I wished there was a way I could shed twenty-five pounds before the meeting. Who was I kidding? Forty was closer to the mark. Why did I have to inherit Mom’s fat genes? I wish I could’ve had Dad’s slim genes instead. He wasn’t real thin, but then he wasn’t fat either. That’s what I wanted, just to walk around and not have to feel all that flab. It wasn’t just how I looked that bugged me, it was how I felt. I’m not talking about the uncomfortable, heavy feeling. I mean feeling like I’m some kind of failure because I’m too fat, like I don’t have enough self control to stop eating. I - 48 -

Mark A. Roeder

49

know I eat too much, but the thing is, I don’t eat that much. It’s not like I sit down and devour a whole pound of bacon or an entire pie or something. I don’t eat all that much more than other people, but I’m heavy while they’re not. It’s so unfair! I already told Mom I was going on a diet. She denied I needed to lose weight, of course, as if the truth would scar me, but she did agree not to tempt me with freshly baked pies, cookies, and cakes. I also got her to promise not to buy any Ding Dongs, Twinkies, or donuts at the grocery. Mom decided she would diet a little too, so that would help. Poor Dad, he’d have to sneak in all the good stuff at work. “What the hell is that?” asked Skye when I pulled out one of the dreaded rice cakes. I was so hungry I was willing to give it another try. “A coaster, at least that’s what it should be. It’s a rice cake. I’m on a diet.” “Diets don’t work,” said Skye. “Thanks for the encouragement.” “Dude, you sound awful, like…depressed.” “I am depressed,” I said. “Hey, look, I’m not trying to mess you up, but diets don’t work. I’ve tried ’em myself and the weight just comes right back.” “You’ve been on a diet?” I asked, incredulously. “Yeah, I have to watch what I eat or I put on the pounds.” “But you don’t have an ounce of fat on you!” I was a little ticked off. There was little worse than hearing a thin person say they needed to lose weight. “I’m not fat because I watch what I eat, all the time.” “I don’t want to call you a liar, but…” “I’m serious. I’m a junk food junkie, more like a junk-food-aholic. If my sis buys a dozen donuts, I’ll sit down and eat every one of them if I don’t stop myself.” Was what I was hearing true? Was totally buffed-out Abercrombie & Fitch Skye a real boy after all? “Okay, if diets don’t work, how do I lose weight?” “You do it a little at time and you don’t stop, even if you fail. You just keep going. If you don’t give up, you can’t fail. Never eat anything between meals, that’s key. Drink water. If you’re drinking Cokes and stuff like that you’re getting something like 120 calories a can. If you gotta have a soft drink, have a diet. They’ll taste just as good as the regular drinks after a while and they have zero calories. Another thing is don’t try to do it all at once and don’t push yourself too

Mark A. Roeder

50

hard. It’s like weight-lifting, you push too hard and you get hurt. You do it right and you get buff.” “I’ve been starving myself and I can’t keep it up,” I said. “I feel like I’ve failed already. I don’t think I can just keep trying.” “You’re doing it wrong, man. Starving yourself is a waste of time. Do you know what your body does when you suddenly take in way fewer calories than before?” “No.” “It panics. Your brain thinks you’re in some kinda situation where there’s no food and it alters your metabolism. All of a sudden, you’re burning way fewer calories than normal, so a lot of your self-denial is doing nothing at all.” “I didn’t know that.” I felt like crying. “So,” said Skye, “you’ve gotta go into it gradually, sneak down the calories you’re taking in so your body doesn’t panic.” “How do I do that?” “First, get off your diet and eat like you normally would for a few days. Then, for the next week, just get yourself used to not eating between meals. Eat anything you want for breakfast, lunch, and supper, but don’t have so much as a grape between meals. The next week, start cutting back. It could be something simple like not having any dessert with lunch. The next week, cut back just a little more, like maybe only let yourself have dessert every other day at supper. The idea is to keep cutting back what you eat, little by little, but don’t overdo it. Weigh yourself once a week and see how much weight you’re losing. If it’s more than two pounds, you’re cutting back too fast. A pound or even half a pound is a good weight loss, although in the very beginning you might lose a little more. How much you want to lose anyway?” “Thirty, maybe forty pounds,” I said, turning a bit red. “Okay, that’ll take you maybe…a year.” “A year!” “If you lose it fast, it comes right back. If you lose it slow, it stays off. Besides, I’m not talking about a diet. All you’re gonna do is eat a little less and keep adjusting what you eat so that you keep losing weight. My Mom did it that way, so I know. She used to be real heavy, but then she started cutting back like I’m telling you about and she slimmed down. It took months. Some weeks she even gained weight, but she didn’t let that stop her, she just kept going. The bottom line is all that matters.” “Maybe I could talk to your Mom about it.” “Can’t, she’s in New Orleans, I think, with her eighteen-year-old boyfriend.”

Mark A. Roeder

51

“Eighteen?” “Don’t ask,” said Skye, rolling his eyes. “Oh, sorry.” “It’s okay. If you do what my mom did, it’ll really work. I lost about ten pounds that way. It took me weeks, but it’s never come back. Now I just weigh every Monday morning to make sure I’m not gaining.” Skye made me hopeful. What he described sure sounded a lot better than my crummy diet. It was at least worth a try. He probably knew what he was talking about. His mom had done it that way after all, and Skye was definitely obsessed with his own body, so he ought to know about such things. “What?” asked Skye. I hadn’t realized it, but I’d been staring at him. “Sorry, I was just thinking about your mom having an eighteen-year-old boyfriend.” “Yeah, that’s kinda messed up. She’s thirty-eight, over twice his age, but that’s not the messed up part.” “What is? Sorry. You said ‘don’t ask’, right?” “Aww, it’s okay, man. It’s just fucked up. My mom and dad are divorced. Dad was cheating on her with some college girl that was like nineteen or something. That really tore Mom up. They got divorced right after she found out, and Dad left with his ‘daughter’ as Mom called her. That was bad enough, but then a few months later I found out Mom was messing with Josh, one of my friends.” “You’re kidding me.” “No. Josh was a couple of years older than I was, but he was on the football team and he used to come over and work out with me all the time. He wasn’t as built as I am, and I was helping him out. I never thought anything about it, but he’d always be early if I said I was going to be home at some certain time. I’d get there and Josh would be waiting. And then there were a few times when I’d told him I wasn’t going to be home and I’d come back and he’d be there. When I found out later he was having an affair with my mom it all made sense.” “How’d you find out?” “I walked in on them.” “No way!” “Way. I’ll probably have high psychiatrist bills in the future because of it. I don’t remember why, but I came home real early one day. When I did, I saw Josh’s car in the drive. I thought that was a little weird, but then maybe he dropped by to borrow a CD or something. He knew I wouldn’t mind. Anyway, I went in and he was nowhere to be found. Neither was Mom. I checked my room—no Josh. I figured Mom was in her bedroom, so I thought I’d ask if she’d

Mark A. Roeder

52

seen Josh. So I opened the door and there they were, going at it. Josh looked up and saw me. I don’t know who was more shocked. I closed the door real fast and walked downstairs, reeling from what I’d seen. I couldn’t believe it. Josh and I had been friends for quite a while. My mom had known him when he was a little boy. She’d made cookies for us. Josh had been to my birthday parties and everything. It just freaked me out. My mom was divorced, but Josh wasn’t quite seventeen yet. It was almost illegal. “They came downstairs and Josh left real quick, even before he got his shirt back on. He couldn’t even look at me. Mom sat down and talked to me about it—saying how she didn’t mean it to happen, but she cared about Josh. She told me how it’d started after Dad left and how she didn’t want to hurt me and all that. I wasn’t really mad at her. It was just that the whole thing freaked me out. I mean, you don’t expect to walk in on one of your friends doing your mom, you know?” I didn’t know what to say. Skye’s story was kind of weirding me out. I didn’t even want to think such a thing was possible with my mom. Of course, she and Dad were happy and he’d never cheat on her, so they’d never get a divorce. “Were you and Josh still friends after that?” “Yeah, kind of, but it wasn’t the same. It’s hard to be friends with a guy who’s doing your mom. She said they were in love and all that, but I couldn’t think of it as anything more than sex. It strained things between Josh and me. In a way, neither he nor Mom was doing anything wrong, but still…he was my friend so I kind of felt like he’d betrayed me. He hadn’t really, but I wondered how many times he really came to see Mom when he said he was there to see me. I felt used. Things kind of deteriorated between us and then Mom announced she was selling the house and leaving, taking Josh with her. She’d talked to Janelle, my sister, and arranged for me to stay with her, but still she was selling the house right out from under me, the house where I’d grown up. She was leaving me homeless and running off with one of my friends. It was like something from a freaking soap opera.” “Are you like…okay with your mom?” I asked. “Sort of. I still love her, but everything’s changed. She’s off with Josh, doing who knows what. She doesn’t even seem like my mom anymore. I never thought she’d do something like that.” We talked some more. I felt sorry for Skye. He was just a couple years older than I was, and all that had happened to him. He lived with his sis, but it was still like he was on his own. I don’t think I could’ve handled that. I was glad I didn’t

Mark A. Roeder

53

have to—it made me appreciate what I had even more. A mom who baked too many cookies was way better than one that ran off with your friend.

Skye

Oliver flew face first into the lockers as Jimmy tripped him. “Ohhhh, sorry, faggot. Oh wait, no I’m not!” Jimmy and Greg Whitmore laughed and left Oliver lying by the lockers. I lingered, fighting the impulse to help Oliver to his feet. Kate ran to him, kneeled beside him and helped him up. Oliver was struggling not to cry. I looked away and walked on. Kate was telling Oliver not to let creeps like Jimmy and Greg get to him. That’s all I heard before the chattering of dozens of kids and the slamming of locker doors drowned her out. Oliver never knew I was there. I walked on to the cafeteria, trying to outdistance the guilt of not coming to Oliver’s aid. It’s not like I owed him anything. We only worked with each other. We were thrown together by chance and nothing more. Then again, we’d become a little more than just guys who worked together. I’d come to like Oliver. Maybe we were even friends. On the other hand, Jimmy and Greg were my football buddies, so there was a definite connection there. How could I have stepped in? I had to stand beside my teammates, not work against them. Still, poor Oliver didn’t deserve that kind of abuse. A little flame of anger ignited in my heart—small, like a weak candle, but nonetheless there. Jimmy was ripped, stronger even than I was. What pleasure could he find in bullying a pathetic excuse for a boy like Oliver? You’re making too much of it, Skye, just forget it, I told myself. I was probably right. Stuff like that happened all the time. Oliver would get over it. Wasn’t I helping him lose weight? Didn’t I listen when he talked about missing his puppy? I was doing enough for him. - 54 -

Mark A. Roeder

55

I joined Jimmy, Greg, and Jarret Dilger for lunch. Scott brought his tray over when he came out of the line. Nothing was said about Oliver. Oliver didn’t matter. I used pizza and talk of football and working out to forget him. “You’re getting a little buff there, Scott,” said Jimmy. “Why don’t you come out for football?” “I don’t like getting knocked around all that much, man.” “Yeah, I hear ya. It’s a great way to get babes, though; they love the uniform.” Greg and I grinned. There was some truth in that. “Unless…” said Jimmy slowly, “you’re more interested in guys.” “Shut up!” said Scott, but he wasn’t mad. Jimmy was just teasing him. “Anyway, I have a uniform, a soccer uniform, and you guys know that soccer rules here!” “Bite my ass, Scott,” said Jimmy. “Now, who’s the fag?” laughed Scott. Jimmy scowled. Scott looked at Greg. “Speaking of getting buff,” he said, “what happened to you?” Scott wasn’t around Greg much, so I guessed he’d just noticed his highly improved build. “Jimmy’s been helping me.” “Oh?” I asked. Jimmy and I were rather secretive about our workout techniques, and I’d wondered if he’d made a discovery he wasn’t sharing. Perhaps Greg knew something. Greg looked at Jimmy for approval. “I guess you can tell him,” said Jimmy. “I shouldn’t keep Skye in the dark forever. It’s time to have pity on the weaker and less fortunate.” “Fuck you,” I said slowly. Jimmy grinned. “So what is it?” asked Scott. Greg leaned in close so no one else could hear. “Steroids.” “Isn’t that dangerous?” asked Scott. “Yes,” said Jimmy, “if you don’t know what you’re doing.” Steroids. That explained a lot—like why I could never catch up with Jimmy and why Greg had suddenly exploded into Mr. Muscles overnight. I was hoping it was something a little less controversial and a little more…legal. Jimmy flexed his bicep for all to see. It was bigger than a baseball and had a nice peak. One thing was for certain—Jimmy was sure getting results. Our eyes met across the table. I had the feeling he could read the hunger in mine.

Mark A. Roeder

✶

✶

✶

56

✶

I tried to dismiss the temptation from my mind as I changed for football practice. Coach Brewer had talked to the whole team about the dangers of steroids. Yes, they built muscle mass quickly, but the side effects were many and some dangerous. Steroids were illegal and anyone caught doing them would be kicked off the team, period. Jimmy stripped beside me, his body near perfection—a powerful chest, broad shoulders, killer abs, and exceedingly strong legs. His arms rippled with strength. Every muscle in his body was well defined, even his ass. I was built. I was ripped. But Jimmy was even more so. I had to have what he had. “Fag,” he said when he caught me looking. “You wish,” I retorted. Jimmy laughed. His eyes caught mine. Did he guess what I was really thinking? We dressed and joined the others on the field. Practice started and we ran, pausing only to strip off our shirts. Jimmy’s body was a reminder of my constant goal. His muscular pecs bounced as he ran beside me. His powerful legs propelled him forward with little effort. Since I was a kid, I’d wanted to be as built as I could manage. The moment puberty hit, an alarm went off in my head, warning me that I had to start working on my adult body. I’d been nothing then, trapped in a boy’s flabby body, but I’d worked and worked, and now there was no one built better than I was—except Jimmy. I kept stealing glances at Jimmy as we ran and all through practice. He caught me often. Yes, he knew the look of hunger in my eyes. He knew what it meant. After we’d all showered and dressed, Jimmy stopped me outside the locker room. He pulled me to the side. “If you’re interested, come to my house later, and bring fifty bucks.” I stared into his eyes for a few moments. “I work until nine,” I told him. “Then I’ll see you just after you get off,” he said, knowing I would come. I drove to Wahlberg’s, thinking. Oliver was already there, of course. I’d forgotten about the incident before lunch, but a purple bruise on Oliver’s cheek reminded me. “How ya doin’?” I asked. He looked especially sad and I thought I should do something to draw him out of it. He looked at me for a moment as if wondering why I spoke to him and then said, “I’m okay.”

Mark A. Roeder

57

Oliver was always the great conversationalist. “What are you reading?” I asked. I’d noted that he didn’t have one of his usual thick books sitting before him. He held up a comic book. “Batman? You’re kidding!” “What’s wrong with Batman?” he asked. “Nothing, I just never though you’d read something like that.” “Do you?” I didn’t answer right away. The truth was that I had quite a collection of Batman comic books as well as Superman and Spiderman. I kept them all secreted away in a locked wooden box. I’d never been quite comfortable sharing my interest in superheroes with anyone, although I don’t know why. I wasn’t even sure why I kept them hidden away as if they were porn. There was just something personal and private about them. But maybe I was ready to share my secret with just one person. What did it matter after all—this secret that had no need to be a secret? “Yeah,” I said, “I’ve read most of ’em.” Oliver smiled. I found that I liked bringing him a bit of happiness. I pulled a stool up to the counter and sat opposite Oliver. I told him about my collection, and for the first time ever we had a real conversation. We’d talked before, but that was just one of us telling the other something, like Oliver telling me about his puppy, or me telling him about Josh and my mom. It wasn’t a real, give-and-take conversation. It was kind of cool to talk comics with Oliver. It was different. He was different. He wasn’t even a part of my world. He wasn’t a jock; he looked like he’d never touched a weight machine in his life; he wasn’t cool, but he didn’t seem to care about any of that. He was an alien life-form. Oliver cheered up considerably. I found that making him feel good helped me to feel good. It was a feeling as alien to me as Oliver himself. I began to wish I’d gone over and helped him the way Kate did after he’d been picked on by Jimmy and Greg. That wouldn’t have been cool, though, and it would’ve aroused suspicions. Everyone would wonder why I stopped to help a geek, one who was probably queer. It would make me look weak and that’s something I couldn’t afford. The Alpha male could not show weakness. Wahlberg’s was dead. I actually sat and played checkers with Oliver while we sipped Cokes from the machine out front, diets of course: I had to stay in shape and Oliver needed to lose weight. Oliver trounced me more than once. I guess that was to be expected; checkers was kind of a nerdy game and bore little similarity to football. Oliver left a little before six. It was kind of lonely in Wahlberg’s after he’d gone.

Oliver

I walked into the old building with no hesitation this time. The gay youth center was the one place where I knew there were others like me. I still felt like a bit of an outsider because I was the only fat boy there, but Skye had given me some ideas and I was determined to slim down. Once I made the decision to go for it and to stick with it, I felt better about myself. I thought, Yeah, I’m fat now, but I’m not always going to be this way. Watch out, World; the new and improved Oliver is coming! “Where’d you get the bruise?” asked Clay. He was actually speaking to me. It was almost worth being abused by the creeps at school. “A couple of football players were pushing me around and calling me a fag.” “Ouch, sorry, man.” “It’s okay. It didn’t last long.” “That’s the kind of thing I’m afraid of—the kind of thing that prevents me from coming out.” “It’s not so bad,” said Sean. “Nobody gives Nick and me much trouble.” “Yeah, but they do give you some, right?” asked Clay. “Sure, but most of it’s just name-calling. It’s not what I’d call fun, but it’s not like getting the crap beat out of you.” “But that could happen,” said Clay. “Of course it could happen. Lots of stuff could happen. That doesn’t mean it will.” “Yeah, well…I dunno. I think I’ll just stay in the closet a little longer where it’s a bit safer,” said Clay. - 58 -

Mark A. Roeder

59

I looked around. The same crowd was gathering as before. I noticed a new boy sitting in one of the chairs. He was older than I was, probably sixteen, with reddish blond hair and a nice smile. He was pretty good looking. His blue eyes watched the proceedings intently. I was going to go over and introduce myself, but Ethan started the meeting. He didn’t introduce the boy to the group, so I guessed he was an established member. After all, this was only my second meeting and I didn’t know everyone yet. The topic of the meeting was safe sex. Ethan spoke rather explicitly about what was and was not safe to do. I don’t mean he gave pornographic descriptions or anything like that, but he went ahead and said stuff like “blowjob” and not “oral sex” like they did in health class. He also said he was available for questions if anyone didn’t understand the terms or wasn’t comfortable asking in the group. I learned some things. I was glad (in a way) that I hadn’t had sex yet because I might’ve got myself into some trouble, disease-wise. I also learned I’d been worrying about some things for no reason at all. I paid attention, but I also did plenty of looking at Clay and the new boy. I had a crush on Clay, for sure, and I kind of liked the new boy. There was something mysterious and yet familiar about him. I didn’t recognize him from school, but then I’d learned a couple of the girls in the group weren’t from Verona at all, so maybe he wasn’t either. At the end of the meeting the kids drifted off into board and card games like last time. Nathan stayed in the room to supervise, while Ethan went to another room down the hall so members could speak with him privately. I noticed some of the kids disappeared for a while, so at least some of them were taking him up on his offer. I didn’t have any questions at the moment, but it made me feel…I dunno…safe…secure…whatever, that I could talk to Ethan privately if I wanted. I joined Clay and some of the others in a game of Bullshit. I looked around for the “new” kid to invite him to join us, but he was nowhere to be seen. I guessed he was with Ethan. I had to pick up a ton of cards when Nick said “bullshit” after I claimed to be laying down three queens. The object of the game was to get rid of all your cards and if you didn’t have the right ones to lay down on your turn, you could lie. If no one said “bullshit” you got away with it, but if they did and you’d lied, you had to pick up the whole stack. That’s what happened to me. Nick laughed at the huge fan of cards I was holding in my hand. At least I had plenty of cards to play after that. I felt safe in the center. I was accepted there. I didn’t have to worry about anyone thinking I was a freak for being gay, because everyone there was gay, too, or

Mark A. Roeder

60

at least bi. Of course, no one at school knew for sure I was gay, but quite a few assumed, so it was nearly the same. Sitting there with my new-found friends I just couldn’t see why people got so freaked out over gays. Some so-called Christians in particular seemed hell-bent on stirring up trouble. They said God was against gays, but how could that be? What about the story of Ruth in the Bible? She was a lesbian, wasn’t she? It sure looked that way to me, and God didn’t disapprove of her. And what about the whole Jonathan and David thing? Jonathan gave up a kingdom for David, because he loved him. Those two were definitely lovers, and I didn’t read anything about God being against that. The Bible even praised their love, so where did people get off saying that God was against gays? I thought I knew the answer. People were prejudiced. They might act like they were all accepting of others, but, deep down, that ugly prejudice was still there. They used religion as a cover to hide the ugliness inside them. That’s probably why some of them were so vehement against gays. It was a way of not having to look inside themselves. I didn’t think about prejudiced people too much while we were playing cards in the center. I was having too much fun. It was such a relief just to know there were other kids like me. Well, I’d known that all along, but getting to actually meet them and spend time with them really brought the point home. Ethan made me feel good about myself, too. He was gay and he was totally cool. I hoped I could be like him when I grew up. Maybe I’d even run a gay youth center myself. Stars were sparkling in the sky when I stepped out of the center. It was beautiful. I’d really enjoyed playing cards and just talking to some of the other kids. I sure didn’t mind being around Clay either. I felt a little awkward when we spoke, but I was trying to get over that. I wanted him to like me. Maybe we could at least be friends. “Hey.” I turned. It was the boy from the meeting, the one I didn’t recognize. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Ken.” “Oliver.” “It’s nice to meet you, Oliver.” “So…” I said, wondering what to talk about. “You don’t go to V.H.S. do you?” “No.” “I didn’t think so. You look kind of familiar, but I didn’t recognize you. So, have you been going to the group for long?”

Mark A. Roeder

61

“Yeah, quite a long time, off and on. I miss a lot of meetings, but it’s fun to hang out and see what happens.” “I had a blast playing Bullshit. You should’ve joined us. Hey, you wanna get some ice cream at Ofarim’s or something? Oh, wait, I better not. I’m trying to lose some weight.” “Maybe we can just walk?” asked Ken. “Sure, I’d like that.” I paused. “So…” “You say so a lot,” said Ken, smiling. “Yeah, well, that’s because I’m not sure what to say.” “I’m not that scary, am I?” “Maybe just a little.” “How so?” “Mainly, I just don’t know you, but you’re kind of cute, too. I never know how to act around cute guys.” “Aww, thanks, but are you sure you have the right prescription for your glasses? I’m not even ‘kind of cute.’” “Yeah, you are.” “Well, you are too.” “Now that’s a definite lie, but thanks.” “It’s not a lie.” “Yes, it is. I’m not cute in any way, shape or form, especially not in any shape or form. I’m way too fat.” “Dude, you’ve got a cute face and as for being overweight, so what? Most people are carrying around a few extra pounds.” “I’m carrying more than a few.” “You’re still cute.” “I’m ugly—fat and ugly.” “Don’t say that about yourself. It’s not true. You’re cute. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and I’m the beholder, so my word is law!” I smiled. Ken was funny. I also liked him calling me cute, even though I didn’t agree. Could it be he really meant it, or was he just being nice? I suspected the latter, but hoped for the former. “So…oh sorry. Um, you like Star Trek?” I asked to change the subject. “Original series, Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, or Voyager?” asked Ken. “Well, I like ’em all, but the original series and Voyager are my favorites.” “I think they’re mine too. The way Spock and Dr. McCoy argue just cracks me up, and I love that holographic doctor on Voyager.” Whoa, I thought, he’s a Trekkie. He’s one of us.

Mark A. Roeder

62

“Most people think I’m a geek for liking Star Trek,” I said. “Hey, if you like it, you like it. Some people collect plants, some read mysteries, some play soccer. You should do whatever makes you happy; at least that’s the way I see it.” “Well, my interests don’t match up too well.” “What do you mean?” “I like Star Trek, which is all that future stuff, but I love old stuff. I collect Depression glass—cookie jars mainly. They were made in the 1930s, so they’re really old. They’re kind of expensive, but I’ve got almost a dozen.” “I don’t see anything wrong with that. You’re interested in the past and the future. Now me, I’m mostly into Star Trek and cute boys.” I laughed. I liked Ken. He put me at ease. “I would have to list boys as one of my interests, too, but they don’t necessarily have to be cute.” “Really?” “I don’t dislike the cute ones, but if a guy’s just ordinary or even kind of unattractive, that’s okay too.” “With that attitude you’re going to have a much easier time of finding a boyfriend than most.” “I don’t know if I’m ready for a boyfriend yet.” “There’s no need to rush. I kind of wish I hadn’t. When I started noticing boys I kind of went wild. I’d…let me think of a nice way to put this…well, I’d do it with anyone who would have me.” I wrinkled my nose involuntarily. “Sorry, I don’t mean to judge,” I said, realizing what I’d done. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have been like that. I wish I would’ve just looked for a boyfriend instead of sleeping around. It gets kind of old after a while. I think I kind of got sex confused with friendship and love. Don’t ever make that mistake, Oliver, or you’ll get hurt.” I nodded. I didn’t feel like I was ready for some of what Ken was telling me, but it was probably good to hear. I wasn’t ready to date or have sex with other guys. I just wanted to become friends with Clay Vanderhausen and maybe hold hands with him or kiss, but anything more than that seemed a bit much. “Hey, you want to come see my cookie jars and Star Trek stuff sometime?” I asked. “Sure thing.” I yawned. I was tired. Ken seemed to think it was a good time to say goodbye. “I’ll see you at the next meeting, maybe, or a later one at least,” he said.

Mark A. Roeder

63

“Cool. Have a good night.” I walked toward home and Ken went his own way. I liked him. Maybe Clay Vanderhausen wasn’t my only option.

Skye

Jimmy answered the door when I knocked. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of V.H.S. football shorts. I followed him through the living room, where his father sat watching TV, oblivious to our existence, and into Jimmy’s bedroom at the back of the house. Jimmy closed and locked the door. My eyes were drawn to Jimmy’s chest. He looked at me. “You know, Skye, if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were queer.” I started to protest, but he spoke over me. “I know what you want, Skye, and it’s not dick. You want to look like me, don’t you?” I didn’t want to make that admission. It meant admitting to him that my body was inferior to his, that he was more of a man than I was. The stark reality of it was there for us both to see, however, so there was no use in denying it. Besides, admitting the truth might get me what I wanted. “Yes,” I said evenly, meeting his gaze. I’d acknowledged my weakness, but I wasn’t going to be submissive. Jimmy was the true Alpha male here, but he’d get no further indication of submissiveness from me. I just hoped he didn’t demand it. What would I do if that was the price for what I wanted? “You bring the cash?” “Yeah,” I said, pulling a wad of bills out of my pocket. I dumped them on his desk. “That’s a lot of money.” “It’s cheap for what I’m going to give you. I know this guy…and he supplies me with good stuff, a lot cheaper than you can usually find it.” I just nodded. I was out of my element. I knew nothing of drugs.

- 64 -

Mark A. Roeder

65

My mind was telling me this was a bad idea. I’d avoided all drugs because they could interfere with muscle growth. Steroids were different, however; they were for muscle growth. “So how does this work?” I asked. Jimmy pulled out a small box hidden in his closet. It was under lock and key. It reminded me of my hiding place for my comic book collection. He pulled out a small bottle and a syringe. I didn’t know it required a shot. I thought it would be a pill or something. I kept my mouth shut about it, though, so Jimmy wouldn’t think me cowardly. Jimmy carefully pulled the dose into the syringe, explaining the proper amount and how to do it. Then, he pulled down his shorts and boxers, exposing his ass. He pushed in the syringe and gave himself a shot of steroids. “And that’s all there is to it,” he said, pulling up his boxers and shorts. Jimmy grabbed a small, unopened box and a few new syringes. I prepared my own shot under his direction. “I guess I don’t have to tell you not to share needles,” he said, “not that I think you’ll be sharing your steroids. This is something we want to keep to ourselves, isn’t it, buddy?” “Definitely,” I said. I exposed my naked butt, trying to keep my hands steady. Giving myself a shot was frightening. I could barely make myself do it, but I hesitantly sank the needle into my behind. I hissed as the pain hit me, but it wasn’t worse than other shots. In mere moments it was over. Jimmy put the bottle and syringes into a bag for me and explained how often I needed to give myself an injection for maximum results. “When you run out, I can get you more—same price. I’m selling it to you for what it costs me. We’re two of a kind, aren’t we?” I looked over his body once more. “Yes.” “You’re gonna love the results,” said Jimmy. “It’s gonna knock you out. If you think you look good now, just you wait.” I grinned. I could feel my goal within my grasp. It seemed odd that Jimmy was the one helping me to attain it. We were rivals of a sort, but maybe he thrived on the competition as I did, and there was no other worthy opponent. I felt energized. I don’t know if it was the steroids or just the knowledge of what they were going to do for me, but I was hyped. Jimmy and I talked a bit, but I couldn’t sit still. “You want to work out?” he said, looking into my eyes. Yes, we were two of a kind.

Mark A. Roeder

66

“Yes,” I said and let him lead me to the basement. “Damn, dude,” I said when I got there. I’d spoken often with Jimmy at school and I’d hung out with him before. I’d even been to his house a few times, but I’d never been in his private gym. Jimmy had better equipment than the school— machines, free weights, the whole nine-yards. “How’d you afford all this? I asked. “Selling drugs,” he said. I jerked my head around to look at him. “I’m kidding. Dad wants to see me succeed. He bought all of it for me. I get weight equipment for birthdays, Christmas, and sometimes just because.” Jimmy ran his hand over a machine dedicated to ab crunches. “Dad bought me this back when I broke 200 on the bench press.” “Your dad is supportive.” “Yeah, he was a big man in football in his day—quarterback and all that. He wants me to follow in his footsteps.” Jimmy walked to a bench and loaded a bar for the bench press. He lay back and began his reps. I watched him without fear of anyone else seeing me, without fear of Jimmy thinking I might be queer. He understood. There was lust in my eyes for his body, but I wanted not his body, but for my own to be as powerful as his. Didn’t someone say that power is the ultimate aphrodisiac? Jimmy had power—it swelled in his pecs and biceps. It filled his hard, sinewy body. It filled my own, but with Jimmy’s help I’d go further than I’d ever gone before. It was my turn. I stripped off my shirt, set the bar with my weight, and lay on my back. As I began my reps, I felt the power flowing through me. I knew it was too early for the steroids to actually be doing much of anything, but I felt stronger and manlier already. I felt invulnerable. Jimmy and I talked between sets and continued talking after our workout. I felt closer to him. He’d bridged the gap that had forever been between us. I wanted to keep that bridge in place. Jimmy understood me as no one else ever had. ✶

✶

✶

✶

That night, as I was brushing my teeth, Colin came into the bathroom. I put down my toothbrush and lifted him so he could get his own out of the medicine cabinet over the sink. He pulled up a stool and stood on it, bringing our heights closer together. He brushed his teeth and grinned at me. “I’ll have to teach you how to shave soon,” I said. Colin giggled.

Mark A. Roeder

67

After we both finished, Colin jumped into my arms. He stared into my eyes for a moment and then ran one of his little hands across my chest. “I want to look like you when I grow up,” he said. “When you get a little older, I’ll help you with that.” “Why is everything ‘when I get a little older’?” asked Colin. “Because you’re six.” Colin rolled his eyes. “You sound like Mom.” “You wanna start right now?” I asked. “Yeah!” “Come on.” I carried Colin into my bedroom and set him down. I lay down on the floor. “This is how you do a pushup,” I said, demonstrating. Colin climbed down beside me, watched, and then mimicked my actions. I stopped to watch him. “Hey, that’s pretty good, but don’t stick your butt so far up in the air,” I said, swatting it. Colin actually did eight pushups before he collapsed. “Oww, that makes my arms hurt.” “It won’t when you get used to it.” “It doesn’t make your arms hurt?” “Not until I get past fifty.” “Colin, bedtime,” called Janelle from down the hall. “Uh oh,” I said, “busted.” “Carry me, Uncle Skye?” Colin reached out for me and I lifted him. I carried him down the hall, meeting his mom on the way. “Skye’s teaching me pushups,” said Colin. He held his arms up, flexed, and said, “Grrrrr.” Janelle laughed and I grinned. We walked together to Colin’s bedroom. My sister pulled down the covers and I lowered my nephew onto the bed. “Goodnight, Skye,” said Colin, giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “’Nite, Colin,” I said and then kissed his forehead. Janelle and I said goodnight also and kissed each other on the cheek. It felt good to be loved. ✶

✶

✶

✶

The next day I ran beside Jimmy again. We paced each other, as always. The competition that had existed between us was still there, but there was also a com-

Mark A. Roeder

68

panionship that before had been lacking. I still intended to beat him out for quarterback next year, and I knew he was just as determined to come out on top. We’d both play and work our hardest to get there, and may the best man win. For the first time I considered that winning wasn’t everything. If Jimmy did come out on top, I could live with that. If I could work my will, however, it would be Jimmy living with me as quarterback. I had no desire to be second best. A sheen of sweat covered our naked torsos as we ran, even though autumn had come. My heart pounded in my chest and my breath came hard and fast. I could hear Jimmy’s labored breathing beside me. The rest of the pack was too far behind to be heard, except for the pounding of their sneakers on the asphalt. The scent of fall was in the air. The trees out past the soccer fields were turning golden and orange. I was most aware of Jimmy, though, and his powerfully muscled body as he ran by my side. Jimmy stumbled. He fell. I grimaced as he went down, nearly feeling the scrapes myself. I halted and ran back to Jimmy to give him a hand up. He lay there, blank eyes staring into the sky. “Jimmy? Jimmy? Jimmy!” His chest wasn’t moving. He was eerily still. I dropped to my knees beside him and put my hand on his powerful chest. Nothing. “Coach!” I screamed. “Coach!” Coach Brewer came thundering across the field. He dropped down beside me. My teammates had gathered around by then. “Get back!” said Coach and they all obeyed. I maintained my position. Coach placed his hand above Jimmy’s heart as I had and then at his neck. “Whitmore, run to the office—see who’s there. Tell them we need an ambulance on the field, now!” Greg tore out like a bat out of hell. Coach put one hand above the other and pressed on Jimmy’s chest. He was doing CPR. Everyone just stood there and watched. What else could we do? Coach kept up his efforts with mouth to mouth, but Jimmy wasn’t coming around. He wasn’t breathing. I couldn’t believe it—Jimmy was dead. ✶

✶

✶

✶

“He just keeled over,” I told Oliver, as I sat across the counter from him in Wahlberg’s. “We were running side by side and then he just…dropped. I thought he’d tripped at first. I’ve done it—hurts like hell. But, he didn’t get up. He didn’t move. He just…lay there.”

Mark A. Roeder

69

“Are you sure he’s really dead?” asked Oliver. “I’m sure. I knew it even before Coach started in with the CPR. I saw Jimmy’s eyes; they were glazed over…lifeless. His eyes were open, but Jimmy wasn’t there anymore. I think he must’ve died while he was running. He must’ve had a heart attack, or something exploded in his brain or something like that. He just died while he was running and fell over. He dropped dead.” “A heart attack? Jimmy?” “I know. It doesn’t make sense. Fuck, he was only sixteen!” Oliver tried to comfort me, but what could he do? Jimmy had dropped dead right beside me. I’d all but seen him die. Maybe I had, I couldn’t remember. He was there and then he was gone, just like that. Talking helped. I wanted to talk about it. I needed to talk about it. I knew the whole school, the whole town would be talking about it tomorrow, but they didn’t know anything about it. They weren’t there. I’d heard nothing since the EMTs had taken Jimmy away, but I knew what I knew. I’d seen the look in Coach Brewer’s eyes too. He knew Jimmy was dead, too. He was just…gone. That’s all there was to it. I lay in bed that night, my hands behind my head, just staring at the ceiling. I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel for Jimmy that way. I wasn’t even sure I was capable of feelings like that. It was just weird and sad. I kept thinking how I’d been working out with him just last night, watching his powerful muscles tense and flex. Now, he was gone. By this time next week, he’d be lying in a satin-lined box, buried in the earth. While the rest of us were out playing football, he’d be lying in his grave—dead. It was freaky. It could happen to anyone. In less than a week, you could go from a vital living being to a rotting corpse, just like that. I thought of Jimmy’s dad. I didn’t know him, but I wondered how he was taking it. He’d wanted Jimmy to be some kind of football superstar and now he was dead. I didn’t know if I was sad for Jimmy or not. I didn’t know what happened after you died. Some people said they knew. Others had “beliefs,” but I don’t think anyone knew for sure. Maybe there was a heaven, or maybe Jimmy would just be floating around as a ghost, or maybe he didn’t exist anymore at all. After seeing my uncle the night he died, I was pretty sure that there was something after we died. But I didn’t know what, so there was little use in thinking about it. I put my hand on my chest and flexed my muscles. I ran my hand up and down my torso. This was what it felt like to be alive. Jimmy’s death made me very aware of my own mortality. He was the last person I expected to die. If he could go so quickly, so could I. Time might be short. I needed to do what I was going to do before death struck me down as well. I felt liberated in a way. Every

Mark A. Roeder

70

day I woke up now was like a gift to do with as I pleased. I was going to take advantage of that. I had responsibilities of course. I wasn’t talking about running off into the blue. I had high school to finish for one thing. I wouldn’t have given that up for anything. With high school came football. Football made me into a man. It propelled me toward my goal and was an end in itself. I just wanted to make sure I ran toward that goal as fast as I could. Death was the other team. I had to get over the goal line before it caught me. I felt like getting up and hitting the Bowflex, but my body needed to rest. I’d worked out with Jimmy just last night, so there was no need in lifting again so soon. My muscles needed time to recuperate and grow. I could work out, but I’d be going backwards, away from my goal. It was weird how it worked like that— how muscles grew faster working out every other day, instead of every day. Maybe everything was weird. I turned on my side and closed my eyes, hoping they’d open the next morning. If they did, it was going to be a bizarre day. As I drifted off to sleep, one thought filled my mind. Jimmy was gone, so I was the Alpha male from now on. ✶

✶

✶

✶

I was right; everyone was talking about Jimmy. It was messed up how people who didn’t even know him acted like they did. Were they that desperate to get into the spotlight? A lot of kids were crying. Mrs. Leander was crying too. It made me wonder if what Jimmy had told me about Mrs. Leander and himself was true—that they had had sex. There was a rumor floating around about Mrs. Leander and Ben sleeping together, but that was only rumor. Jimmy had confided in me while we were working out. I thought he was just bullshitting me, but maybe not. Jimmy talked about doing so many girls that all his stories couldn’t have been true. But, if there was nothing between Jimmy and Mrs. Leander then why was she so busted up? He wasn’t even in her class. The guys on the team were shaken. How could they not be? Jimmy was practicing with the rest of us and then he was gone. The locker room was subdued as we all changed for practice. The absence of Jimmy was keenly felt. Everyone’s gaze kept traveling to his locker where “Jimmy Kerstadd” was written in magic marker on a piece of athletic tape, as if he was still alive. Coach Brewer came into the locker room as we suited up for practice. That was unusual—Coach almost never came into the locker room while we were changing unless the sounds of a fight drew him. Maybe he didn’t come in because he was gay and he was afraid we might think he was checking us out. Maybe he

Mark A. Roeder

71

didn’t come in because he didn’t have to—no one fucked with Coach Brewer. It was an unusual day, however, so I guess the appearance of Coach wasn’t a big surprise. Coach talked to us about Jimmy, of course. What else was he gonna talk to us about the day after Jimmy died? He repeated what we’d heard in homeroom first thing in the day—that counselors were available for anyone who wanted to talk about it. Coach also said he was there for us if we needed him, but everyone already knew that. Coach was always there if you needed him. The next game was going to be dedicated to Jimmy. We were all encouraged to attend the showing, which would be in a couple of evenings, and the funeral the day after. I knew there would be a big turnout for the funeral, because lots of people knew Jimmy. It was going to be at 1 p.m. too, so a lot of kids would go just to get out of school. “Coach, what happened to Jimmy? How did he die?” asked Ben. I knew that question was coming. It’d been the topic of the day. I’d heard all kinds of weird rumors: Jimmy had a brain tumor no one knew about; Jimmy had cancer; Jimmy had AIDS; Jimmy’s lunch was laced with anthrax by a girl he’d jilted; Jimmy had overdosed on drugs; Jimmy had killed himself. Most of the rumors were just crap and couldn’t be true, but no one knew what really killed him. “I was coming to that,” said Coach Brewer. “An autopsy was performed this morning.” My stomach tightened. They’d cut into Jimmy. The mere thought was gross and disturbing. They’d cut him up like a frog dissected in science. They’d scarred his muscular body, although I guess that didn’t matter since he was dead. It wouldn’t matter how he looked after they buried him. Coach continued, “Jimmy died from complications arising from the use of steroids. I won’t bother with any technical explanation, but Jimmy killed himself with drugs. I’m sure that was not his intention. I’m sure Jimmy used steroids for the same reason anyone does—to make himself bigger and stronger. I told all of you at the beginning of the year about the dangers of steroids. As most of you know, I talk about it at the beginning of every football season. I’m very sorry that Jimmy became an example of what can happen with steroid use, but I hope all of you will learn from his mistake. Jimmy built himself up with steroids. You all know what he achieved with them, but if any of you are, or are considering, following the same path, just remember what happened to Jimmy in the end. It’s not worth the price. Muscle doesn’t matter much when you’re dead.”

Mark A. Roeder

72

Coach looked really upset, like he’d somehow failed Jimmy, but he hadn’t failed him. I remembered the talks about steroids. Jimmy made his own decisions and it’d cost him his life. “If any of you are on steroids, I urge you to stop. If you didn’t believe what I told you at the beginning of the season, maybe you will now. I know what a temptation it is, but you’ve now seen for yourselves the results. Maybe you can use steroids and get by with it, maybe you won’t die like Jimmy, but it’s not worth the risk. If any of you are doing steroids, I want you to hand them in to me. There will be no repercussions. I’ll talk with you about how to proceed without them. At the very least, think about it.” We all gathered in a big circle and had a moment of silence for Jimmy. I looked up and met Coach Brewer’s eyes. They were glistening with tears. He really did care. As I ran around the football field, I remembered the day before. It was as if the ghost of Jimmy haunted me. I tried to put him out of my mind, concentrating instead on the beating of my own heart and the rhythm of my breath. I ran harder, losing myself in my own body. I didn’t want to think about Jimmy anymore.

Oliver

Skye said I needed to exercise to lose weight. I had no interest in his kind of exercising—weight lifting and all that—but I did like to walk. That’s something else Skye said—that I should find some kind of exercise I enjoyed and do that. I had some time every afternoon after school let out and before I was due at Wahlberg’s, so I’d started walking around town. Not only was I getting some exercise, but it helped me stay away from snacks. I’d always gone straight home from school and hit the cookies or cupcakes or whatever. Walking helped me break the habit. I was pleased with what I’d accomplished on what I was calling my “eating plan.” I wasn’t calling it a diet, since it really wasn’t one. I was doing just like Skye said, taking it slow. I’d stopped eating between meals and I’d cut out dessert with lunch. Otherwise, I still ate pretty much what I wanted. Next, I’d cut down on desserts with supper, and then go on from there. I’d already lost a pound and a half. That might not sound like much, but it was just right according to Skye. It let me know that the eating plan could work for me. Unlike a diet, where I was starving and dreaming about food, I could handle not eating between meals. When I was dreaming of donuts before bed, I just told myself I could have a couple for breakfast. There wasn’t anything I couldn’t have. I just had to wait until it was time to have it. Knowing that helped more than anything else, I think. I was starting to feel good about myself. I was still all fat and flabby, but I was a whole pound and a half lighter than before, and the next time I weighed I’d hopefully be lighter still. Even if I wasn’t, I was going to keep trying. I had much to occupy my thoughts as I walked—Clay and Ken, mainly. Before, it’d always been just Clay, but now I liked Ken, too. It complicated - 73 -

Mark A. Roeder

74

things, but then again it kind of doubled my chances. For a long time I’d wanted a friend whom I could share things with—gay things. It was hard being different and not being able to talk about it to anyone. It was kind of like I couldn’t even be the real me. I didn’t live in hiding, terrified someone would discover my secret. Sean and Nick were out, after all, and hardly anyone gave them any crap about it. They were always together and everyone knew about them. They’d even danced together at school dances and no one beat them up for it. No, I didn’t live in terror of being outed, but that didn’t mean I could just start talking to any of the guys at school about my feelings. I was a minority, but a different kind of minority—one not revealed by skin color, accent, or whatever. That was good in a way, because it kept jerks from picking on me, but it also hid other gays from me. I couldn’t tell if someone was gay or not by looking anymore than anyone else could. I’d heard about gaydar, a sense gays had in recognizing other gays, but if such a thing existed, I think mine was broken. I’d tried talking to other gay boys in internet chat rooms, but it was all just lies and sex. Everyone wanted my picture and most wouldn’t talk to me when I told them I didn’t have one to send. It was all about looks. Everyone I talked to asked me my stats. At first, I didn’t even know what that meant, but I soon learned it meant height, weight, eye, and hair color. When I told the truth, most conversations ended. It was like having someone shout, “You’re ugly!” Guys online did want to meet me—for sex. Sometimes the very first message I received was, “Do you want to hook up?” I couldn’t believe someone would ask that when they didn’t know anything about me, but they did. I didn’t even answer those guys. There were others who wanted to meet after we’d talked a while, but it wasn’t just to talk, it was for sex, always sex. I wasn’t looking for that. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in sex, but I kind of had this romantic notion of sex coming after weeks or even months in a relationship. I wanted to take things slow. I needed to take things slow, because I didn’t really know what I was doing. Some of the guys who wanted to meet me were old, like in their 30s or 40s. Some guys wouldn’t talk to me at all when they found out I was fourteen; others seemed excited by it. There was no way I was going to meet some old guy. I’d heard too many stories about boys like me being found dead in a car trunk or ditch somewhere. Actually, I was afraid of the younger ones for the same reason—college guys and even boys more my age. It kind of disgusted me that all they thought about was sex. I wanted someone to talk to about my feelings, my hopes and dreams, but if guys like that were online, I never met them. To be fair, I should say that I was only in the chat rooms for three nights before deciding it

Mark A. Roeder

75

was a total waste of time, so maybe it’s more than just a big hookup place. I don’t know. I took a break from my walk when I reached the old Graymoor Mansion. That’s where Sean lived. I wondered what it was like living in that place. It freaked a lot of people out, although I think not so much after Sean’s parents started fixing up the place. I was a little scared of it because of all the rumors of ghosts, but even that made it more interesting. I loved it even if I was somewhat frightened of it. It was old and I loved old stuff. I wanted to live in a big, old house someday, although I wanted someplace smaller than Graymoor. The old mansion standing before me was unthinkably humongous. I’d heard it had over a hundred rooms and that many of them were huge. Almost daily, I walked around the block, looking at the old home from every side. Near the back there were a couple of big rooms made all of glass. I could see old withered plants inside one and what might’ve been a pool in the other. It was hard to see in because the glass was dirty and the sun often reflected off of it. If it was a pool inside the one room, it was Olympic size or larger. I couldn’t wait until Halloween. I’d get my first look inside Graymoor at Sean’s party. I’d always wanted to look around inside, but was afraid to ask. I’d heard that everything inside was just as it had been for well over a hundred years. It sounded like paradise. Halloween was coming up fast, but it couldn’t come fast enough for me. It was like waiting for Christmas morning. I circled Graymoor and then continued my walk, timing it so I’d arrive at Wahlberg’s a little before five, which was when I started work. My legs pleasantly ached by the time I got there. I smiled. It was sign that I could change myself. I wouldn’t be overweight my entire life.

Skye

It was impossible not to think about Jimmy, since he’s all anyone talked about. I didn’t mention his name the whole next day. I was sick to death of hearing it. Why was it that people had to drive things into the ground? They just had to keep talking and talking about anything tragic. I just wanted to get it all over and done with. There was no use dwelling on it. I missed Jimmy as much as anyone and probably more than most, but I didn’t want to talk about his death anymore. After practice, I lingered in the showers. I sighed as the relaxing, hot water massaged my tired muscles. One by one my teammates departed until I was alone. I waited a couple of minutes more, then turned off the shower and walked out to get a towel from Landon, the team manager and towel boy. Landon was one of those guys who couldn’t quite make any team but still wanted to be involved. I highly suspected he was queer. His eyes roved just a little too much. That didn’t freak me out like it did some guys. I didn’t care if he checked me out or not. If he got his jollies from looking at my stuff, then he could just go for it. As long as he didn’t put any moves on me, I couldn’t have cared less. Landon’s eyes dropped down as he handed me my towel. I gazed into his eyes for a moment and he swallowed. Yeah, he was sightseeing. You had to hand it to him. What better place for a queer than the boys’ locker room? I knew a lot of guys who would’ve paid to hand out towels to girls. I dried off my hair while walking into the locker room. I thought I’d give Landon a thrill. He could check out my ass all he wanted to as I walked away. I almost laughed out loud thinking about it.

- 76 -

Mark A. Roeder

77

I needed a good laugh. Things had been too intense since…well, you know. I was apprehensive about what was coming up, too. I dried off slowly and then dressed. I reached into my locker and pulled out a paper bag. I took it with me to the coach’s office and knocked on the door. It opened and Coach Brewer invited me in. I didn’t know quite what to say, so I just put the bag on his desk and said, “Open it.” Coach pulled out the small bottle of steroids and the syringes Jimmy had given me. He looked up at me and nodded. “You want to talk about it?” “I just used it twice,” I said. “Jimmy gave it to me just a day before he…died.” “Well, as I said, there will be no repercussions. There’ll be no lecture either. I think that’s completely unnecessary given the circumstances, don’t you?” “Yes, sir.” “If you’re worried—two doses of this stuff won’t kill you, and it shouldn’t have any lasting effects, perhaps no negative effects at all. If you’d continued using it, the situation would’ve been quite different. I’m very glad you brought this to me, Skye. You made a mistake and you’re man enough to admit it. You don’t need this stuff, Skye. Just look at what you’ve done without it. I’m sure you’ll continue to progress and you’ll know you accomplished it all on your own, without resorting to a drug that could kill you.” “I know it was a dumb move, but Jimmy gave it to me and…well, no one is built…was built like him. It sure didn’t seem to be hurting him, so I thought, why not?” “I understand. I think that’s what’s so dangerous about steroids—they seem so harmless; they offer something many young men would almost sell their souls for. It’s a trap, however, and the results can be…well, I guess we’ve both seen that for ourselves. Jimmy could’ve gone far, but he was impatient and reckless. I know it wasn’t his intent, but he threw it all away when he had so very much. It’s such a waste. “I’m sorry,” said Coach, “I think I might have slipped into a lecture after all. It just angers and saddens me to lose Jimmy to this.” He gestured toward the bottle sitting on his desk. “I know, Coach. Listen, um…there’s something…” I trailed off. “What is it, Skye?” “I’ve been feeling…I dunno. I’m sorry Jimmy’s gone, especially since we were becoming better friends right before he died, but I’ve got these other feelings and…they make me feel like I’m a horrible person.” “What feelings?”

Mark A. Roeder

78

“I’ve always been one step behind Jimmy. He was top dog, you know? I know Jeremy is quarterback, but that’s not quite what I mean. Jimmy was…well, he was the Alpha male, you know? And I was right behind him, right beneath him, and now he’s gone and part of me feels…almost happy.” I swallowed and looked up. I didn’t want to say the words. It made me feel petty and small. I felt stupid for even telling Coach, but it was eating at me. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Skye. I know there was a rivalry between the two of you. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. I think it kept both of you sharp. Like you said, you’ve always seen yourself as being just behind Jimmy and now he’s out of the picture. I think it’s natural for you to feel good about no longer being number two, as you see it. That doesn’t mean you’re glad he’s dead or that you wanted things to end this way.” “Yeah, that’s it, Coach. I didn’t want it like this. If I could, I’d put things back like they were, with Jimmy being one step ahead of me and alive.” “Don’t feel so guilty. Your head and your heart are in the right place. It’s okay to feel good about your situation. It doesn’t mean you don’t care about what happened to Jimmy.” I nodded. Coach and I talked some more. Oddly enough, we didn’t talk about Jimmy, or steroids, or even football. We talked about his farm. I could see the chickens and sheep and all the other farm stuff in my mind. It relaxed and comforted me to talk about something other than Jimmy. I think Coach knew what he was doing and I appreciated it. ✶

✶

✶

✶

I was walking to my car when I heard a scream out beyond the parking lot. I went to investigate. I ran out onto the soccer field and found Ben Tyler holding Landon with his arms pinned behind his back. Greg was in front, punching Landon in the stomach. “Help me!” cried Landon when he saw me. “He’s not gonna help you, faggot,” said Ben, loosening his grip for a moment to smack Landon in the head. “Yeah, queer,” said Greg. “You think Skye appreciates you drooling over his dick anymore than we do? Huh?” Greg punched him in the stomach again. Ben pushed Landon down. “Come on, fucker, get up, defend yourself.” Landon just lay there. “You guys are too big. You know I can’t beat you.” “That’s right, faggot,” said Ben, kicking him in the ribs. “You’re just a useless little faggot.”

Mark A. Roeder

79

“Help me!” cried Landon again. He was pleading with me with his eyes. A small trickle of blood was running from the corner of his mouth. I wanted to help him, but I couldn’t stand up for a fag, and Landon was obviously a pillow-biter. If I stepped in, word would get around. Ben and Greg would spread it for sure. I didn’t like seeing anyone get picked on or beat up, but there were limits to what I could do. If the guys were just beating up Landon because they were pissed off at him or something, I could’ve stopped them with a word. That was the power of the Alpha male, and with Jimmy gone, I was it. I turned and started to walk away. Ben and Greg wouldn’t hurt him too bad, I reasoned. Besides, it looked like they were almost done. “I’ll tell the coach they did this to me,” said Landon, “and I’ll tell him you didn’t help me, Skye.” I turned around and marched to where Landon was lying on the ground. “Don’t threaten me, you little fag. You tell Coach and I’ll fuck you up myself.” That made Landon cry. I left him with Ben and Greg.

Oliver

I couldn’t believe I’d done it. I’d asked Ken out. I was taking my usual walk after school when I saw him coming down the sidewalk toward me, looking very handsome in a white t-shirt, blue flannel shirt, and jeans. His reddish blond hair was shining in the sun and the very sight of him made my chest feel funny. I’d been thinking about asking him out, but didn’t know if I could work up the courage. When I saw his friendly smile, I just went for it before I lost the nerve. The only thing more unbelievable than my sudden courage was that he said yes! I couldn’t wait. We were going to a movie at the Paramount on Friday night after I got off work. Actually, I’d have to take off a bit early to get to the theatre in time. It was only a few blocks from Wahlberg’s, but the show started at nine. Ken said he’d meet me there. I’d been seesawing back and forth between Ken and Clay, trying to decide which one to ask out. I’d had feelings for Clay longer, but Ken was more approachable. Actually, I liked Clay better than Ken, but when I saw Ken walking toward me, I made up my mind on the spur of the moment. Besides, it wasn’t like it was all that serious. I just wanted to spend time with both of them, hopefully become friends, and then see where things went from there. Calling our trip to the movies a date was probably an exaggeration. Friends went to the movies together all the time. If that’s what this was, it was fine by me, because I wanted to be friends first anyway. Still, I couldn’t help but be excited. I’d asked Ken nearly twenty-four hours ago, and I was still psyched. I’d thought about it off and on all day at school, and Ken dominated my thoughts - 80 -

Mark A. Roeder

81

on my after-school stroll. Just like everyday, I found myself standing in front of the Graymoor Mansion again, looking up at its massive four stories. Unlike the other days, there was someone planting hostas under one of the giant trees near the gates. She noticed me and gave me a cheery “hello.” “Hi. It’s beautiful,” I said, indicating the house. “Thank you. There’s a lifetime of work to be done on it, but we’re whipping it into shape.” “Are you Sean’s mom?” “Yes. Do you go to school with him?” “Yeah, but I don’t know him from school. I’ve talked to him some at the youth-group meetings, but I don’t know him well yet.” I feared for a moment I might have said something wrong. What if she asked about the youth group? Then I remembered that Sean was out, so she already knew he was gay. I guess I’d kind of given myself away too, but if she had a gay son, she’d probably understand. She kept smiling in any case. I liked her. She was so friendly. “I’ve seen you walking past the house before. I’m Kayla.” She got up from her planting and walked toward me. “I’m Oliver. I walk by here everyday. I love old houses like this, old everything.” “Would you like a look inside?” “You mean it? I mean…yeah, if it’s not too much trouble.” “Oh, it’s no trouble. I love showing off the house. Hopefully I won’t talk your ear off. Sometimes I don’t know when to stop when I get started, at least that’s what Sean says.” We looked up at the massive old house. It was forbidding and inviting at the same time. “It’s a mix of Italianate and Second Empire,” said Kayla. “They don’t build them like this anymore.” “I have the feeling this is the only one ever built like this,” I said. “You may be right.” I smiled as she led me around the side of the house. She stepped into a small two-room structure for a moment and put away her gardening tools and gloves. “This was the summer kitchen,” she said. “We don’t use it for anything now except as a tool shed. We plan to restore it someday, but there’s so much to do here it’s impossible to get to it all.” Kayla led me in a side door. I stepped into the largest kitchen I’d ever seen in my life. “It’s beautiful,” I said.

Mark A. Roeder

82

“Thank you. This is one of the first rooms we restored. We kind of used it for a living room and kitchen for a while. We brought it back as close to its original appearance as possible. Both my husband and I are into restoration. Dan’s an archaeologist and his skills sometimes come in handy in uncovering the past.” “He’s an archaeologist? That’s really cool. I used to want to be one when I grew up, but I might be an antique dealer or something like that instead. I wanna get an old house too and restore it like you’re doing. I think I’ll want a much smaller one, though. Something like this one would be way too big for me.” “It’s too big for us, too, but we couldn’t resist it. It’s a treasure and we got an incredible deal on it, lock, stock, and barrel. It’d been up for sale for years, but I think everyone was afraid to buy it.” “I’m glad you did. It would’ve been horrible if it just fell apart.” I looked around the kitchen. There was a huge antique table, built in cabinets with glass doors, pressed-back chairs, a massive antique stove, and all kinds of other old things. It looked like pictures I’d seen of historic homes that’d been made to look like they did long ago. “Does this place have a pool and a green house? I thought I saw them from around back.” “Yes, would you like to see?” “I’d love it.” Sean’s mom led me through a hallway with doors opening to either side, leading to what looked like studies, sitting rooms, and rooms I couldn’t identify. There were so many rooms! “How many rooms are in this place?” “We’re not really sure. It sounds silly, doesn’t it? We’ve tried to count, but we never come up with the same number twice. We have the original plans for the house, but even they don’t show everything. Occasionally, we’ll find a room we never noticed before. It’s almost as if they pop up like mushrooms. Of course, there are so many we probably just forget some of them. I think the lowest count was somewhere in the seventies and the highest nearly a hundred, but we don’t think we got to all the rooms even then.” “Wow,” I said. “That’s why we don’t think we’ll get Graymoor restored in our lifetime. If Sean decides to live here after we’re gone, perhaps he can complete it, but it may take even longer than that. So far, we’ve focused on key rooms and the roof. Luckily, the roof is in amazingly good shape. It’s slate and took surprising little work to make it like new, or should I say like old? Anyway, the original builders saved us tens of thousands by doing things right.

Mark A. Roeder

83

“We haven’t touched most of the rooms and that’s true of the Solarium, the green house as you call it, and the Natatorium, the pool house, as you’ll soon see.” We walked past more doors and hallways until we entered the pool house at last. The walls and roof were glass that needed a good cleaning, but the building was in amazingly good shape. It was a wonder vandals hadn’t broken the glass in all the years Graymoor had sat empty. The pool took up most of the space and it was definitely Olympic size, or somewhere close. It was empty, but looked as if all it needed was a good scrubbing and water. Surrounding the pool on all sides was a tiled area with old chairs and lounges for bathers to rest and sun themselves. There were enormous planters where tropical plants probably once grew, but they were empty now, except for the dried remnants of what had once been green and thriving. The pool and its surroundings looked like something that belonged in a big, fancy hotel instead of a private home. I bet few people guessed that such a thing was sitting right in Verona. It was almost unbelievable. “We’ll cut across the yard to get into the Solarium,” said Kayla. “I always get lost if I try to go through the house.” We exited through a glass door. In contrast to the inside, the lawn was closely clipped and well kept. Roses grew along the glass walls of the pool house and the solarium and sweet peas, daisies, and black-eyed susans were much in abundance. I wanted to just sit on one of the cast-iron benches and enjoy the surroundings. Kayla led me through another glass door across the yard and into the Solarium. I liked the name. It was so much more mysterious than greenhouse. “We’ve left the Solarium just as we found it,” said Sean’s mom. “With all we have to do, there’s no way we could tend all the plants this place would require. The glass is in good shape, just as in the pool house, so it’s sound. I’d love to fill it with roses and plants and trees, but I’m afraid that’s a project that will have to wait.” “Wow,” was all I could say as I looked about me. There were planters even more enormous than those in the pool house—some of them still held gnarled and dead old trees. Others held brown and dry rose bushes and other plants I couldn’t identify. The Solarium must’ve been absolutely gorgeous when it was maintained. There were arches that looked Roman, covered with dead vines. There were lots and lots of statues too, such as those I’d seen in books—Greek, I think, of naked, athletic young men. One of them with a discus reminded me of Skye.

Mark A. Roeder

84

There were benches all over and even fountains. I tried to imagine what it must’ve been like when it was filled with green life, flowers, and falling water. It must’ve been a paradise. “Someday,” said Kayla. “We’d like to get this place in shape. It’s all I can do to keep myself from pulling out the dead flowers and planting new, but there just isn’t time for everything.” “The original owners must’ve had a gardener or gardeners to keep this place going,” I said. “I imagine you’re probably right. How old are you, Oliver?” “Fourteen.” “You seem very knowledgeable and mature for your age.” “Thanks.” I grinned, blushing. “I wish Sean would take such an interest in the house. He’s coming around, but he’s still not terribly enthusiastic about old things.” “I’d give about anything to live here. Maybe Sean and I could trade places,” I laughed. “Be careful, he might like that.” We explored the Solarium some more and then Kayla took me inside. Sean greeted me as we passed through the kitchen once more. “Hey, Oliver, what are you doing here?” “I was loitering near the gates and your mom offered to show me around.” “She didn’t force you inside, did she? She’s been known to do that. Sometimes she just drags people off the street, kicking and screaming. She loves showing off Graymoor.” “No,” I grinned. “I wanted to look around.” “Some people have an appreciation for historic homes,” said Kayla pointedly, but with a smile. “Want a cookie?” asked Sean, holding out a gooey chocolate-chip dream before my eyes. “No thanks, I’m trying to lose some weight.” “Me too,” said Sean, but I allow myself one a day. “They look delicious, but I’m trying to be good.” I looked at my watch. “I’d better be going or I’ll be late for work. Thanks so much for showing me around.” “It was a pleasure, Oliver,” said Sean’s mom. “You come back again and I’ll show you more.”

Mark A. Roeder

85

“Yeah, man, stop by and we can hang out. I’m not the tour guide Mom is, but I’ll show you around too if you want—the really creepy parts.” Sean laughed evilly. “Hey, you’re coming to the Halloween party right?” “I wouldn’t miss it.” “Cool, I’ll see you at school and the meetings then.” I left though the kitchen door, walking across the beautiful lawn toward the gates. I felt like I’d just been to a museum. I couldn’t believe Sean really got to live in that place.

Skye

The showing at the funeral home wasn’t too crowded. I didn’t know what to say to Jimmy’s parents. His mom was crying and his dad looked like he was about ready to join her. I felt for them. I adjusted my tie as I offered my condolences. I’d dressed up for the occasion in my grey Armani suit, white Armani shirt, and red tie. I’d bought the Armani stuff on eBay, but I never told anyone that. For all they knew, I’d spent hundreds and hundreds of dollars on it. Janelle did some alterations on it for me, so it really looked like it’d been tailor-made to fit my body. I looked sharp in that suit. Jimmy was lying in a silver casket with highly polished silver handles. The top half of the lid was open and Jimmy was lying there with his eyes closed. I guess he’d have to be; it would’ve freaked everyone out if his eyes were open. When I’d looked at him with his eyes open just after he’d died, I’d decided for sure that everyone had a soul. I guess they could’ve looked all empty because his heart had stopped, but I think it was because his soul had left. I’d known he was dead when I looked into his eyes then, just like I knew he was dead now. Jimmy didn’t look quite like Jimmy as he lay there in his casket. For one thing, he had makeup on. He would’ve kicked the undertaker’s ass over that if he could’ve. That thought almost brought a smile to my lips, but I suppressed it. Funeral homes weren’t a good place for smiles. Maybe Jimmy didn’t look like himself because he was so still. I don’t think I’d ever seen him not moving until he dropped onto the track. It was like he wasn’t Jimmy anymore. He just lay there, his chest not moving. His parents had him dressed in his football jersey. I thought that was cool. If I keeled over that’s what - 86 -

Mark A. Roeder

87

I’d want to be wearing in my casket. I thought that maybe I should tell Janelle that, just in case. Jimmy’s pecs pushed against his jersey. His arms bulged under the sleeves. It was almost obscene somehow, because he was dead. I couldn’t help but think as I looked at him how he’d be rotting away soon. He probably was already, only it wasn’t visible yet. Maybe those big concrete crypts they put caskets in would preserve him for a while, like an Egyptian mummy in a tomb, but sooner or later he’d rot. I was both repulsed and morbidly fascinated by the idea. I guess what happened to his body didn’t matter, for it was meaningless after his death. Jimmy wasn’t lying in that casket. It was just his body lying there. Whatever Jimmy had been was gone. I silently said goodbye to him and stepped away. Mrs. Leander was there, and she seemed more shaken up than ever. She looked like she was going to totally lose it as she approached the casket. My eyes met hers and I found myself approaching her, even though I didn’t really want to and I didn’t want to look at Jimmy anymore. Mrs. Leander gripped my arm hard enough to kind of hurt. Tears were running down her cheeks. I fumbled around in my pockets until I came up with a tissue. I handed it to her. She said “thanks,” but she wasn’t paying any attention to me. She was looking at Jimmy. She still hadn’t let go of my arm, but she’d loosened her grip a little. I watched her face as she looked at Jimmy. Yeah, there’d been something between them. Mrs. Leander broke into tears. I don’t know how it happened, but all of a sudden I was holding her and she was crying into my chest. I was a little uncomfortable because people were watching, but it seemed okay. I led her outside and sat beside her on a bench far away from the entrance. I didn’t want to just leave her alone when she was so distraught, so I stayed with her. She stopped her crying, although tears flowed from her eyes. She held my hand as if she was afraid. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” she said. “He was so young, so strong.” “Coach said it was steroids,” I said. “He said Jimmy had a heart attack, but it was caused by the steroids.” She just nodded, as if she wasn’t surprised. “I’m going to miss him so much. If he hadn’t been a student, and so young…” I squirmed on the bench. Was she saying she was in love with him, that she would’ve married him or something if things were different? I didn’t know why she was telling me this stuff. She looked at me quickly, slightly fearful, as if she didn’t know why she was telling me either. It was risky. She could be fired for sleeping with a student.

Mark A. Roeder

88

“It’s okay,” I said, “I won’t tell anyone.” She smiled. “Most people wouldn’t understand,” she said. I just nodded. I wanted to leave. I didn’t like dealing with her grief, but there wasn’t anyone else around so I couldn’t just leave her. I wondered if I should offer her a ride home. She talked about Jimmy some more. I guess it was inevitable. Everyone had been talking about Jimmy and they weren’t even sleeping with him. It creeped me out a little to know that she’d had sex with him and now he was lying in there dead. She’d done it with a dead boy, although he wasn’t dead then. Still, it was kinda gross. Mrs. Leander’s hand found its way to my leg while we were talking. It added to my sense of unease. She slid it up to my inner thigh and I got aroused, despite the weirdness of the whole situation. “I don’t want to be alone tonight,” said Mrs. Leander. Whoa! I thought. She’s totally coming onto me. If I’d had any doubt, it was erased when she grasped my crotch. My manhood instantly rose to the occasion. Ben Tyler walked up right in the middle of it. He arrived just in time to hear the art teacher tell me she didn’t want to be alone. If he’d looked down, he would’ve seen her groping me. He looked angry, but more at me than her. He dropped down on the other side of her and took her in his arms. “Oh, Ben!” she said and started crying on his shoulder. Okay, this is fucked up, I thought. I used the distraction of Ben to stand, trying to hide my erection. Ben saw it. He wasn’t happy, but he didn’t dare talk shit to me because he knew I’d kick his ass right then and there if need be. I slipped away. I just wanted out of there. The whole thing was too weird. I thought about Mrs. Leander, Jimmy, and Ben as I drove home. Something was going on there. Had there been some kind of messed up ménage à trois? Or, some kind of bisexual orgy? Whatever it was, I’d received my invitation, there was no doubt about that. It both intrigued and repulsed me. If Mrs. Leander and Jimmy were lovers, why would she come on to me at his showing, especially if she’d been in love with him? But, maybe it wasn’t love at all, maybe it was just sex. And then there was Ben. He and Mrs. Leander were obviously more than student and teacher. I felt like I’d walked into a real, live soap opera. It was kind of like my mom and Josh. Were all older women like that? Truth really was stranger than fiction.

Mark A. Roeder

✶

✶

✶

89

✶

The funeral was the next day. I spaced out on most of it as I sat there with other members of the football team. I might’ve just skipped out on it, but people would know I was missing. Besides, I was a pallbearer and I wanted to be there when they lowered Jimmy into the ground. I don’t know why, but I kind of needed to see him buried—maybe to make it all seem more real. The casket weighed a ton. Of course, Jimmy was a big boy—muscle is heavy. It’s no wonder they asked me and some of Jimmy’s teammates to carry him. I don’t think the old guys could’ve handled it. It felt weird when his weight shifted in the casket. It was like he was moving around in there. Well, he was, but you know what I mean. The service had taken forever in the crowded church, but it all went pretty fast when we made it to the graveyard. The day was sunny and bright, if chilly. The clear day didn’t match the scene of grief and loss. It seemed wrong for the sun to be shining while we were putting Jimmy in the ground. I watched as they lowered his casket into his grave. That’s where Jimmy would be staying forever, his magnificent body turning to mush, and then dust. It was weird how everyone wound up like that—no matter how they looked in life, eventually they just turned into dirt. I felt uncomfortable as I left with all the other mourners. It was like we were abandoning him or something. There’d been tons of people at the funeral and at his burial, but soon he’d be all alone. When the guys waiting patiently with their shovels finished covering him up, they’d leave too and Jimmy would be all alone in that box deep under the earth. It gave me a sense of loneliness the likes of which I’d never experienced before—thinking of him alone in that graveyard. Of course, there were hundreds of people buried there, so he wasn’t alone. And, I was thinking of him as if he were alive, like his casket was some kind of little house and he’d be eating and sleeping and watching TV there. I had to remind myself that he was dead. He didn’t know he was in that box. If he did still exist, and I thought he probably did, he wasn’t alone in the graveyard. He was wherever people went when they died—maybe with friends and family that’d died before him. I liked thinking of it that way much more than thinking of him all alone in his coffin. Still, I had a sense of disquiet around me that wouldn’t quite go away.

Oliver

I didn’t usually worry too much about how I looked, but I tried on three shirts before I settled on one. I had to give up some of my walking time to get ready, but it was worth it. The jeans were an easy choice. I only had two pair and they were exactly alike. I wished I was slimmer. How could a boy like Ken be interested in me when I was all fat and flabby? I tried to tell myself that maybe being overweight was an advantage. If Ken did like me, I could be sure he liked me for me and not just for my body. Then, when I slimmed down, it would be all the better. Maybe I’d be ready to be more than friends by then. “You have a date,” announced Skye as he walked into Wahlberg’s, ten minutes late. “How can you tell?” I asked, not even bothering to deny it. “Your hair’s combed, you look too neat and tidy, and I can smell cologne. So who’s your date?” “You don’t know them,” I said. Watch the pronouns, Oliver, don’t give yourself away. “What’s his name?” asked Skye. My mouth dropped open in shock. Shit. “How did you know it was a guy?” I asked, stupidly. “I didn’t, until now,” said Skye, grinning. He’d tricked me, but he didn’t even seem to care that I had a date with another boy. “It doesn’t bother you that I’m going out with a guy?”

- 90 -

Mark A. Roeder

91

“Why should I care who you go out with? I always figured you were gay anyway.” My mouth dropped open farther. “Why?” “Everyone says you are. Well, not everyone, but it’s the general rumor.” I was truly shocked. People were talking about me? I didn’t think anyone even noticed me. “Do I look gay or something?” “How should I know? The only gay guy I know is Coach Brewer, and he looks like, well, a football coach.” “So you’re cool with it?” “I already said I don’t care. Just because I’m a jock doesn’t mean I go around kicking the shit out of gay boys; that’s just a stupid stereotype.” “Cool,” I said. I liked Skye even more after that. Time passed much too slowly. I was nervous about going out with Ken, and I wanted to just get to it and get going. Suddenly, it seemed as if there was nothing to do in the farm store. Just when I needed to keep busy, all I had to occupy myself was sitting behind the counter and rearranging stock that didn’t need to be rearranged. Skye mercifully didn’t taunt me. ✶

✶

✶

✶

The lights of the marquee strobed and flashed as I drew near. It was nearly nine. Ken was waiting out front. I bought a ticket at the window and we walked inside. We crossed the worn marble floor onto red carpet. The Paramount was a grand old movie theatre in its day. Now it was a bit worn and tattered, but that only made it more mysterious, as if it held great secrets. We were in a hurry, so we didn’t even stop for popcorn. I didn’t want any anyway, as I’d already had supper and wasn’t eating between meals. The theatre wasn’t crowded and we had no trouble finding seats. The previews were already on. We didn’t speak, but Ken gave me a killer grin. I was glad it was dark because otherwise he’d have seen my face grow red. It felt comfortable sitting there by Ken. I felt a connection to him I hadn’t felt before. I’d long been drawn to Clay, but I’d never done anything like this with him. Maybe I would sometime, but I didn’t know. The closer I got to Ken, the less I’d be interested in Clay. Of course, this was our first date, and I wasn’t even sure it was a date, so who knew where things were going?

Mark A. Roeder

92

About a third of the way into the movie, Ken put his hand on top of mine on the armrest and then interlaced his fingers with mine. He gently squeezed my hand. I turned to him, and he smiled. My heart felt like it might rise up out of my chest. I grinned back at him. I was comfortable and content. I also felt daring and bold. Even though it was Ken who took my hand, I was still holding hands with a boy in a public place. Someone would’ve had to stare down at our hands from three feet away to see what we were doing, but still it added an exciting edge to the evening. I wanted to go on holding his hand forever, but he pulled it away after a couple of minutes. That was okay, though; he probably just didn’t want to risk getting caught, and after all, it was he who’d made the move on me. He was interested in me! For real! It was nearly eleven when we walked through the lobby and into the chill of the night. Ken yawned and said he was ready to drop, but that he’d had a wonderful time. It was just as well he was tired, because I was rarely allowed out so late, and if I didn’t go straight home I might never be allowed to stay out late again. “Would you like to do something again soon?” asked Ken. “I’d love to,” I answered, hoping I didn’t sound overly eager, but at the same time not really caring if I did or not. Why shouldn’t I let Ken know I was excited about what was happening between us? He smiled his charming smile and we went our separate ways. A noticed a couple of boys from school staring at me. I started to get worried, but then I stopped myself. They weren’t those football players from school who’d pushed me around, they were just guys my age—frightening enough, but not near as bad as older jocks. It was a short walk home, but I took my time. The stars were shining overhead and I felt like a whole new world had opened up for me. Ken taking my hand in the theater changed everything. I didn’t have to wonder anymore whether or not we’d been on a date. I had my answer. Friends didn’t hold hands, but boyfriends did. Ken wasn’t my boyfriend. Saying that was going a bit far, but maybe he would be somewhere down the road. We were definitely heading in that direction and I liked it. I couldn’t believe he was interested in pudgy me. That mere fact made me all the more interested in him. Was it just my imagination, or was he becoming cuter? I thought about Hermione as I neared home. I wondered what she was doing at just that moment. She was probably sleeping, but maybe the little girl who now took care of her was getting up for a drink of water, and Hermione was wait-

Mark A. Roeder

93

ing to nip at her and give her kisses when she returned. I missed my little puppy. I knew she had a good home, though, so that made it easier. Already, I remembered her with happiness instead of sadness. I treasured the few short days I’d had with her. She wasn’t my puppy for long, but I’d always love her. I went inside, sleepily greeted my mom who was waiting up for me, endured her “did you have a good time?” and then climbed into bed. I fell quickly asleep and dreamed of my puppy and Ken.

Skye

The day before he died, it seemed like Jimmy and I were getting closer. The invisible barrier that’d always separated us had begun to weaken. We’d always been too much alike to be friends. Often, such similarities could be the basis for a friendship, but not with us. I had little doubt Jimmy had the same hunger I did—to look as good and be as physically strong as possible. I was glad we hadn’t become real friends, though, now that he was gone. I’d have missed him too much and felt too much pain. As it was, he was barely more than an acquaintance, a might-have-been. The memory of Jimmy dulled with time. He continued to be the talk of the school, but other tragedies and scandals took the place of Jimmy’s death at V.H.S. I wondered how long it would be before he was completely forgotten. Would anyone remember him at graduation? Would anyone recall him when we were all old, wrinkled, and balding at some reunion in the far future? The air had grown crisp and chill. I enjoyed fall weather, except I mourned the loss of hot summer days when I could show off my torso. What was the point of having an awesome bod if no one got to see it? As Halloween drew nearer, I was the only one to see myself with a bare chest, except when I was in the showers and locker room in the gym. Every morning I flexed after I’d showered, just to see what kind of progress I was making. It was the same after every workout. I couldn’t resist taking a peek. I continued to make progress, although it was slow compared to the quick muscle growth steroids had promised me. I’d seen where that led, however; it was a false promise. Well, not false, but laced with poison. Maybe I owed Jimmy my life in a way. True, he’s the one that sold me the stuff, - 94 -

Mark A. Roeder

95

but I’d been thinking about it anyway. It was probably only a matter of time before I took the plunge. Yeah, Jimmy had saved me. I’d handed over my poison to Coach Brewer and never looked back. ✶

✶

✶

✶

Landon gave me a sullen look whenever he handed me a towel, like it was my fault Ben and Greg kicked his ass. If it was anyone’s fault, it was his for checking them out too openly. I couldn’t have cared less if he looked at my stuff, but some guys freaked out over it and Landon should’ve known that. I guess he’d learned that lesson, at least as far as Ben and Greg were concerned. When he was near either of them, he stared at their throats and nothing else. He was scared of them. They’d given him a black eye and a busted lip and had knocked him around pretty good. They could’ve done a lot more, and Landon knew it. Landon didn’t tell Coach anything. If he did, I’m sure Ben and Greg would’ve lied through their teeth and sworn they hadn’t touched Landon. If I’d been called in, I would’ve had to back them up. It would’ve pissed me off to be forced into lying to Coach, but I would have. Not doing so would’ve broken the code. Landon saved us all the trouble by keeping his mouth shut. It was a wise choice because I’m sure the guys would’ve given it to Landon even worse if he narked on them. I would’ve hated to see that happen, but I couldn’t interfere. ✶

✶

✶

✶

I pulled my Cutlass into the school parking lot and stepped out of the car. Another day at V.H.S. was dawning. Greg Whitmore climbed out of his Dodge Ram beside me and said, “You ready for that game this weekend?” I never answered because Landon walked up just then and said to Greg, “You shouldn’t pick on people because they’re different.” I was shocked Landon had balls to address Greg like that. He was usually so meek. Greg laughed at him. “Yeah, right. You’re way beyond different, queer.” “Where’s your buddy Ben?” asked Landon, looking around. I felt a cold shiver of fear pass through my body. Landon was way too calm and detached. “He’ll be along, not that it’s any of your business, faggot.” “Good, then we’ll just wait for him.” Greg smirked at Landon. “You’re quite the little freak, aren’t you? If you wanna see Ben, you wait on him. I’m goin’ in.”

Mark A. Roeder

96

“You’re not going anywhere,” said Landon. That’s when he pulled the pistol out of the front of his jeans and pointed it at Greg. “I hate you,” said Landon. “I hate every guy like you. Just because someone’s different, you think you can do whatever you want to them. Well, you can’t.” Greg threw himself back against his truck, dropping his backpack. “Dude, calm down, we…” “You shouldn’t pick on people,” said Landon and fired. Blood exploded from Greg’s chest. He sank to the ground in slow motion, just like in the movies after someone says, “You got me.” People all around were screaming and running away. It was chaos. Landon turned the gun on me. I just stood there, looking at him with his hand on the trigger. This is it, I thought, I’m going to die. “Why didn’t you help me? I begged you to help me,” said Landon. “I…I couldn’t. You’re gay and…” “And everyone might think you were too if you helped me? You coward! Does it frighten you that much?” I swallowed hard, but didn’t answer. Landon’s hands were trembling as he held the gun. “You should’ve helped me,” he said, and then turned the gun on himself. He pointed it at his head. “No, Landon, don’t! We can…” There was a deafening blast and Landon’s head exploded. That’s what it seemed like. I was standing not ten feet away from him. His blood splattered on my shirt, face, and neck. He fell face down on the pavement, a pool of blood widening beneath him. I leaned over and hurled my guts out. I’d never seen anything like that before in my life. I knew I’d have nightmares about it forever. Mrs. Leander, who’d been on parking-lot duty, appeared at my side. She put a hand on my stomach and another on my back as I dry heaved. I could hear Mrs. Kafka sending a student running for the principal and then shouting at everyone to stay back. Greg was moaning. That was the first indication that he was still alive. I sat on the asphalt and looked over at him. He was leaning against the tire of his truck. Mrs. Kafka was examining him. He was bleeding a lot. My stomach ached, but I pulled my shirt off and tossed it to her. She pressed it against Greg’s chest to try and slow the bleeding down. I could hear sirens in the distance. I looked over to see Landon lying on the pavement. I nearly got sick again. More teachers were coming, keeping kids back from the gruesome sight. I felt cold, like I might be going into shock.

Mark A. Roeder

97

I thought he was gonna kill me. I thought Landon was going to blow me away. But instead, he’d turned the gun on himself. I couldn’t think about it. I could feel his blood on my face. I tried wiping it off with my hand, but I knew it would never come off, not really. An ambulance and a squad car roared into the parking lot. The EMTs rushed to Greg. They quickly examined him, secured a pad tightly against his chest, and then placed him on a stretcher. In moments, the ambulance was speeding away. Another came soon, and the paramedics examined me. “You’re in shock,” one said. I let them guide me onto a stretcher. I wasn’t feeling so good. Just as they put me in the back of the ambulance, I saw other EMTs covering Landon with a sheet. He was dead—of that there was no doubt. I’d seen part of his skull and brain fly away. I’d seen him fall lifeless. I couldn’t see his eyes after he fell, but I knew if I did, they’d look just like Jimmy’s—empty and soulless. The guy in the back of the ambulance with me was real nice. “You’re a football player, aren’t you?” he asked as he took my blood pressure. “Yeah,” I said. “You’re going to be okay,” he said. “You’re just suffering from shock. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.” “Okay,” I said. My mind was kind of numb, like it was trying to shut down so I wouldn’t have to see Landon’s head exploding all over again. In the emergency room, I lay there thinking that stuff like this happened way too often at V.H.S. Just last spring that kid had been murdered in the woods out beyond the soccer fields, and now this. I knew just what had caused this latest act of violence. Landon had snapped. It’d been a couple of weeks since Greg and Ben beat him up, but I’d noticed how scared he was of them and how he glared when they weren’t looking. He hadn’t forgotten what had happened, and Greg and Ben didn’t cut him any slack. They were always razzing on him, pushing him. They’d pushed him too far and he’d struck back. The only thing that saved Ben was that he wasn’t there to shoot. I thanked God he wasn’t there. I thought Landon was going to kill me, and maybe I would’ve deserved it. I did nothing to stop Greg and Ben when they were beating him. I didn’t help him when he was begging me to save him. I just stood there and did nothing. Landon’s blood was on my hands. If I would have stepped in like I should’ve, none of this would’ve happened. Landon would still be alive, and Greg wouldn’t be somewhere in the hospital, fighting for his life. I wondered if he would survive.

Mark A. Roeder

98

I went back to school the very next day. Of course, everyone was talking about the incident. Jimmy’s death was pushed to the side for the newest bit of drama. Everyone kept asking about the kid who had shot Greg and then turned the gun on himself. Not many people knew Landon. The jocks knew him, because he handed us our towels and cleaned up after us, but he was invisible to most everyone else. It was sad how someone could go through life like that—almost invisible. I thought of Oliver. I quickly grew tired of telling people what’d happened. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to remember. Within a short time, I simply refused to discuss it. I began telling people that the police were investigating and I wasn’t allowed to comment. Landon was dead. That was no news. The official cause of death was a self-inflicted gunshot wound. I wasn’t sure that was accurate. Oh, he’d shot himself, all right, but hadn’t Greg, Ben, me, and a lot of others driven him to it? Wasn’t it really us who killed him? Greg was going to be fine. Landon obviously hadn’t meant to kill him. I was there. I saw. Landon took careful aim and fired. He shot Greg in the upper right chest, not in the left where his heart was. If Landon had meant to kill him, he would’ve done it. No, even though Landon shot Greg, he’d shown him mercy, where he’d been shown none. I knew I’d never be able to erase the image of Landon blowing his own brains out. It was permanently burned into my mind. Perhaps it was a punishment I deserved, a reminder of what I should’ve done, but didn’t. I almost wished Landon had killed me. It would’ve been easier than living with the guilt. Maybe Landon understood that. Maybe he was less merciful with me than with Greg. I’d like to say I was the champion of the underdog’s rights from that day on, but I wasn’t that strong. I could bench press way more than my own weight, but I wasn’t strong enough to stand up for others if I felt I wasn’t safe. I should’ve pounced on anyone who said “that’s gay.” I should’ve smacked the crap out of anyone who called someone else a fag. The old fear was there, however, and I shrank from it like a coward. Landon was there to remind me just how cowardly I was, too. Every time I didn’t act, I could see him looking at me—his dead eyes boring into mine. He haunted my dreams and my waking hours.

Oliver

Ken wasn’t at the next gay-youth meeting, and I was bummed out. I thought he’d be there, if for no other reason than he knew I would be. I’d been thinking about him a lot. I was falling for him. When I pictured him in my mind, my chest felt kind of tight, but in a good way. I don’t think there’s really a way to describe how he made me feel, except to say I had a crush on him, but even that doesn’t get it. Clay was at the meeting and this time I sat right next to him. We were squeezed right up against each other on an old couch. The physical contact made me breathe just a little harder. Where Ken was new in my life, I’d had a crush on Clay for what seemed like forever. Getting to sit right beside him and talk to him was kind of like getting to sit next to Jordan Potter from Phantom, or Elijah Wood, or Tobey Maguire or someone like that—okay, not quite, but close. That’s how I felt about Clay, so the whole Ken/Clay thing was more difficult for me that you can imagine. Ken holding my hand during the movie sure complicated things, but that was okay. Having two possibilities was way better than having none. Ethan talked about self-esteem and how it’s important to feel good about yourself. I kind of felt like that was beyond me. I agreed it was important, but I didn’t see how someone like me could have good self-esteem. “Isn’t that kind of easy for you to say?” I asked, after Ethan had been talking about how everyone had something going for them they could take pride in. I’d been speaking out more and more during the meetings. I was quickly growing

- 99 -

Mark A. Roeder

100

comfortable there and felt like no one would make fun of me, even if I said something stupid. “What do you mean?” asked Ethan, kindly. “Well, you’re very good looking and…well, you’re built. I can see where it would be easy for you to feel good about yourself, but what about someone like me? I’m not good looking. I’m fat. I don’t have anything going for me.” “First of all,” said Ethan, “you have a great deal going for you. And, second, I’m not just talking about physical beauty. You’re going to discover that beauty really is in the eye of the beholder. There are certain attributes that most people in our society find attractive. In males, the idea of beauty is often connected with a muscular body, but not always. Some don’t find that attractive at all. Some look to the eyes for beauty, or the hair. The idea of beauty isn’t quite as universal as advertisers would have us believe.” “Yeah, but, lets take me for an example. I’m fat. Nobody is attracted to a fat boy.” I just knew I was turning red. I couldn’t believe I was drawing attention to my weight with Clay sitting right next to me, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t see it for himself. “Actually, you’re wrong,” said Ethan. “I’ll admit that most people don’t find overweight individuals appealing, but some do. And, there are those who aren’t concerned with physical appearance at all. They care more for what’s inside. “Regardless of what others think, you need to remember that physical beauty is only one part of the whole. When I was young, I knew a boy who was physically beautiful in my opinion, but he wasn’t beautiful on the inside. He was arrogant, spiteful, hateful, and unkind. I can’t speak for everyone, but personally I’d be more interested in a plain, ordinary guy who was overweight, than someone who was beautiful on the outside, but ugly on the inside. Our society tends to be shallow in many ways. People are judged by their looks. We do not have to follow that bad example, however. If I based my sense of self-worth solely on my physical appearance, I’d be a pretty shallow person. What I value most about myself, however, has nothing to do with how I look. What I’m proud of is my loyalty to Nathan, my accomplishments in wrestling, on my farm, and the work I do here trying to help those like you who can benefit from a little understanding and guidance. You shouldn’t base your sense of self-worth solely on your physical appearance either. Surely, there are things in your life of which you’re proud.” I nodded. “I still think looks are important. I’m working real hard now on losing weight, because it’s something I don’t like about myself.” “I’m not saying physical appearance isn’t important. In a perfect world, it wouldn’t be important, but we don’t live in a perfect world. You’ve just men-

Mark A. Roeder

101

tioned something you can be proud of, however. You’re not happy with your weight, so you’re doing something about it. You’re trying to improve yourself. That’s an accomplishment right there. You’re lucky in a way. It’s much easier to lose weight than it is to change your personality. The boy I mentioned earlier, the one beautiful on the outside, but not on the inside—he was unable to change. You have a chance he didn’t have. Since your weight obviously bothers you, it’s something you should work on, and you’re doing just that. As I said, that alone is something that should give you a sense of pride. Now, what you have to do as well is look inside yourself and see what else you can find to make yourself feel good about who and what you are. We all struggle with self-esteem. We all feel inferior to others at times. That’s natural, but what I’m saying is that each of us needs to feel as good about our self as we can.” “You’ve felt inferior?” I asked, shocked. “Of course,” said Ethan. “No way!” said Clay. “Why do you find it so hard to believe?” asked Ethan. “If I was built like you, I wouldn’t feel inferior to anybody,” said Clay. Ethan smiled and then actually laughed. “Remember what I said about physical appearance being only one part of each of us? It’s the same with me as it is anyone else. I’ll admit, I am muscular, but that doesn’t solve all my problems. You’re just focusing on one part of me. It’s natural to do that, because when you look at me, you don’t see my personality or my thoughts and feelings. You see my body. The closest you can come to seeing what’s inside someone is looking into their eyes, and even that will only give you a vague sense of their emotions. It’s very easy to look at someone else and think he or she has it made, but you’re not seeing the whole picture. All of us have problems. All of us have issues with our self-esteem. “When I was younger, I knew a young man who was, in my opinion, the most beautiful boy to ever walk the face of the earth. If one considered only his beauty, they would’ve assumed he couldn’t possibly have had any problems with self-esteem and yet he did. He ended up killing himself before he finished high school. There’s a whole lot more to the story than I’m telling you right now, but my point is that everyone has problems. You can think of anyone you want and that person has his own problems and personal issues, no matter how perfect his life may seem to be. Most of us don’t announce our feelings out loud, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have them. Each of us is more aware of our own self-esteem issues because we know our own thoughts and feelings. We can never

Mark A. Roeder

102

be aware of these same things in others unless they choose to share them with us and that takes a great deal of courage.” Ethan looked straight at me and smiled. I grinned back. I could see what he was saying. His words actually did make me feel better about myself. I hadn’t realized all that about others having problems even though it might seem like they didn’t. I never knew that what I was doing to improve myself was something to be proud of. Ethan was right, though, I was working to change something I didn’t like about myself, and that was more than a lot of people did. I could lose the weight. I knew I could. I decided right then and there that I wasn’t going to let being fat ruin my life. I was going to get rid of the fat and until then I’d find other things to feel good about. Even with the fat, I was who I was, and that was a pretty cool person. I had a lot to offer. After the discussion, Ethan pulled me to the side, and we discussed my efforts to lose weight. He told me I was right on track, so apparently Skye had given me good advice. Ethan was very supportive. He made me feel good about myself. I was glad there was an adult I could talk to about things. Just knowing he was there for me made me feel safer. Clay looked slightly bummed out when I returned from my chat with Ethan. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “Oh, it’s no big deal, but there’s a Star Trek convention in South Bend next weekend, and I can’t find anyone to go with me.” “You like Star Trek?” I said. “I love Star Trek.” Wow, I thought, Clay Vanderhausen is a Trekkie. There is a God. “I don’t make it a way of life like some people,” said Clay, “but I’m really into it. You ever been to a convention?” “No.” “They’re really cool, but it’s kind of freaky. That’s where all the hard-core Trekkies go. Some of ’em take it way too seriously, but then that kind of makes it fun.” Please ask me to go. Please ask me to go. “Would you like to go with me?” asked Clay. YES! “Sure, it sounds like fun.” “How ’bout Sunday? That’s when Counselor Troi is gonna be there.” “Oh sweet! I love her.” “Yeah, she’s awesome, isn’t she? My mom’s going to drive me up Sunday morning. We can pick you up and make a day of it.” “Awesome. I’ll have to get off work and make sure it’s okay with my parents, but I don’t think either of those will be a problem.”

Mark A. Roeder

103

“Great. So who’s your favorite character? I’m big into Data and Dr. Crusher,” said Clay. We talked about Star Trek, practically ignoring those around us. They probably thought we were a couple of geeks, but who cared? I almost laughed at the thought. No one could ever think of Clay Vanderhausen as a geek. He was so cool. I was almost walking on air as I strolled home. Who would’ve ever thought I’d be going out with Clay Vanderhausen, the boy of my dreams? Yeah, I know, it wasn’t a date, not really, but it was close enough. I was overwhelmed. All those years I didn’t have any gay friends and thought I’d never have the chance for a boyfriend, and suddenly I had two friends and either one of them could become my boyfriend. The possibilities made my head spin. What’s more, neither of them seemed to care I was overweight. It made me feel better about myself than ever. I thanked God for giving me the courage to enter the gay youth center.

Skye

The party at Avery’s house was coming up fast, so I’d been planning out my costume. I wanted to go as Batman, Superman, or Spiderman which would’ve been ultra cool, but we were supposed to conceal our identities. Even though I kept my love for comic-book superheroes a secret, it was too obvious a choice for me. After all, I was already built kind of like those guys. Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking—conceited cock—well, just deal with it. When you can bench 225 like I can, you can say somethin’ about it. Until then… I decided to go as Jesse James, which was totally out of character for me and therefore would conceal my identity well. Besides, I already had a black cloth mask I could use. Coming up with the rest of the costume wasn’t as easy. None of my Abercrombie & Fitch, Structure, or Gap stuff would do. It was eBay to the rescue, however. I found a western costume that was just right—light-brown, old-fashioned pants and an unbleached linen shirt. It looked like something out of a museum and was just about exactly my size. I had some boots I could wear. I looked for a hat like Jesse would’ve worn, but couldn’t find anything. This Jesse James wasn’t gonna have a hat. I decided to refuse to speak at the party. If we were supposed to conceal our identities, then I was going all the way. Besides, it would come in handy if the Graymoor Mansion totally freaked me out and I wanted to leave early. On Halloween night, I parked my car blocks from the old Graymoor place and walked. As I neared, I could see lights in a lot of the windows—a warm buttery glow that seemed more inviting than ominous. Still, I halted on the cracked sidewalk, my feet unwilling to step onto the grounds. - 104 -

Mark A. Roeder

105

The night air was chilly. The skies had been clear as I’d driven the short distance from home, but thick, dark clouds hung over Graymoor, and a rain so light it was little more than a mist was falling. It made the sidewalk, the gates and the stone pathways gleam eerily. How Addams Family could you get? The massive iron gates were flung wide open and two rows of jack-o-lanterns, glowing with candles inside, made a path to the front door. I checked to make sure my mask was in place and swallowed as I passed through the gates. A brief flicker of lightning lit the old mansion in terrifying detail before plunging it back into the shadows. In that moment of illumination, I glimpsed threatening gargoyles gazing down at me from above. Was it just my imagination, or had one of them moved? The jack-o-lanterns grinned evilly at me as I walked between them. I kept looking back and forth between their flickering features and the rooftop where the gargoyles were now hidden in darkness. I heard moaning coming from some distance off in the yard, but I recognized it as a recording. It was the real ghosts I was worried about. I was actually trembling a little as I neared the front porch. Halloween was perhaps the scariest night of the year to visit Graymoor, but it was also ideal. Even if I bolted from the mansion in fright, no one would ever know it was me in my disguise. I had no intention of bolting, however. I’d face whatever terrors Graymoor had to offer. Besides, what could happen at a Halloween party? The front door opened seemingly by itself as I approached. It must’ve been rigged, because I never saw anyone near it, inside or out. I stepped into a vast room, filled with love-seats and couches and tables—all ancient and dark and beautiful. The room was huge, bigger than the gym! It was filled with candles and mingling and dancing kids. Everyone had their faces covered, painted, or otherwise disguised. At first glance, I didn’t recognize anyone among the vampires, witches, ghosts, zombies, and various animals and historical figures. After a bit, I was pretty sure that the werewolf was Glen Barrett from the team and that the masked damsel in distress was Kate Camden, but I wasn’t sure. It was kinda cool having no idea who was who. I felt a freedom I’d never felt before. I could just stare right at someone if I wanted, and they would have no idea who I was. Ben Tyler came as Tarzan. He was one of the few I could identify with ease. He had on a mask not unlike mine, but his bare chest gave him away. Ben wasn’t nearly as built as I was, but he had a tight, compact, well-defined build. I’d have recognized his chest and abs anywhere. I’d seen him shirtless practically every day forever. I didn’t let him know I recognized him, however, as that could’ve blown my own cover.

Mark A. Roeder

106

Ben sure thought he was hot. He kept flexing his muscles. I felt like going over and putting him in his place, but he was probably being cocky because he thought no one knew his true identity. Then again, maybe it was just as excuse. What did I care, anyway? Music was blaring from a stereo near where lots of kids were dancing. I recognized the song—Phantom’s “Do You Know That I Love You.” I had the CD and listened to it a lot when my sister wasn’t home. I didn’t let anyone know I liked Phantom. It wasn’t real cool for a guy like me to be into pop stuff. I kept my Phantom CDs with my comic books—out of sight, a secret known only to myself. A girl came up to me and started dancing. I smiled and danced with her. I had no idea who she was, but she looked a bit pudgy under her witch’s costume. I didn’t care. I thought it was kind of cool that the not-so-attractive girls and boys could kind of hide themselves for a night and dance like they were really good looking; not that you have to be good looking to dance, but you know what I mean. It seemed that the less-than-good-looking guys and girls were often shy about asking someone to dance, which was too bad really. Sometimes, I danced with not-so-hot girls. I couldn’t do it often or it would blow my rep, but I could do it now and then, and it made me feel good about myself. After all, looks aren’t everything. See, I’m not such a dick after all, am I? Like I care what you think. Anyway… My eyes were drawn to a couple dancing not far away. At first, I thought it was a boy dancing with a girl with long blond hair; if so, the girl was pretty flat-chested. The blonde’s pirate costume was an odd choice for a girl, too. As I looked closer, I was pretty sure it was a guy, but I didn’t recognize him. No guy at school, or girl for that matter, had hair that long. I thought it might even be a wig; if so, it was a good one because the pirate’s hair sure looked real to me. I kept looking and danced nearer. I heard him speak—it was definitely a guy. He was exceptionally good looking—model good looking, movie-star good looking. If he worked out he could’ve been the hottest guy on the planet, but he was very slim. He had some muscle, but nothing like me. The fact that two guys were dancing together dawned on me—queers. Or, maybe they were just friends and danced together because no one would know they were two boys. Probably no one else noticed but me. The boy dancing with the blond had dark hair and was very good looking as well. He was dressed as an angel, complete with wings and halo. It was kind of queer, but he looked masculine enough. I bet he was a queer though. I guess they came out of the woodwork on Halloween.

Mark A. Roeder

107

Avery had invited me, but it was Sean’s party. Sean was gay. I wondered if he didn’t do the whole concealed-identity thing so his queer friends could dance together without anyone giving them shit. He was probably dancing with his boy even as I was thinking about it. I had to hand it to him; it was a damn clever idea. “He’s beautiful,” said the witch I was dancing with, as she nodded at the pirate. I didn’t answer. I just shrugged my shoulders. “I think he’s—like an angel.” I wanted to make a comment about how he was dancing with one, but I didn’t want to speak. At least the witch shared my opinion that the blond was a boy, not that it mattered all that much. The witch didn’t pay much attention to me until the blond pirate was lost to view. Then, she looked me over. “I guess you won’t tell me who you are?” she asked. I slowly shook my head. “You’re so mysterious.” I wanted to tell her that is what the evening was all about, but I couldn’t. Not talking was a pain. We kept dancing and I enjoyed myself. I loved to dance. I intentionally stayed away from some of my better moves so as not to reveal myself. When the song ended, I drifted away from the witch and headed for the refreshment table. The Graymoor Mansion wasn’t too scary, since it was crowded with people and loud music was playing. I did see something quite odd—at least I think I did. It was a couple of boys dancing together, not the blond with long hair and his partner, but another pair. That wasn’t the odd part, though. I could’ve sworn I looked right through them. For just a moment, I saw them dancing, and I could see the other dancers beyond them—through the boys dressed in old-fashioned clothes—as if they were transparent. When I realized what I’d seen, or thought I saw, I jerked my head back in their direction, but they were gone. It gave me a creepy feeling. What if the ghosts of Graymoor had joined the dance? Would anyone know? Cool, I thought to myself, feeling oddly excited instead of frightened. What an awesome Halloween party! I didn’t really believe my eyes anyway. Graymoor kind of freaked me out. I was expecting to see weird shit, so my mind was creating it for me. Besides, Sean had the place done up in spooky. He probably had some special-effects stuff set up to make it look like there were ghosts among the living. There were a lot of games, like bobbing for apples. I avoided most of them, but I did join in the mummy game. The object was for one partner to wrap the

Mark A. Roeder

108

other from head to foot in toilet paper. I was paired with Frankenstein, who looked a little like our quarterback, Jeremy Harrington, but I wasn’t sure. Anyway, he stood still and I was the one doing the wrapping. Everyone but me started at the head or feet. I began with his shoulders and worked my way down. I held the roll on my fingers and ran around him quickly until I began to get dizzy, then I wrapped it around him a bit more slowly. When I reached his feet, I stood and covered up his face. Some of the other mummies had fallen down from disorientation, but not mine, since his face was covered last of all. We won! There was lots of dancing and eating. There was a big cauliflower brain with pus to dip it in (Honey Dijon I believe), cookies that looked like dismembered fingers, candy disguised as very realistic eyeballs and various other gruesome treats. I tried not to eat too much, but it was difficult because everything was so good. I joined a group of about two dozen at a huge table in the dining room for a séance. Many others stood around the table watching. The room was illuminated only by two large candelabras near either end of the table. A zombie, a.k.a. Marshall, officiated at the séance. I knew who it was because of his voice and the fact that he didn’t wear a mask and that his makeup didn’t quite conceal his identity. Besides, even if Marshall was perfectly disguised his identity would’ve been obvious to everyone because it just had to be him running the séance. After all, who else would do it? Marshall explained how the séance worked and how he was going to summon one particular spirit. He said a name, but I couldn’t catch it, but then he said something about an ax murderer. I’d heard the stories about Graymoor and how the whole family had been killed when the dad lost it and hacked them to bits. Surely, he wasn’t really going to summon him. I had to laugh at myself for believing Marshall actually had the ability to do something like that. I was glad no one could read my thoughts. I would’ve felt foolish. We all joined hands and Marshall started chanting some nonsense. He really was a strange kid. He probably lived for stuff like this. I involuntarily jerked in my chair when all the candles suddenly went out as a gust of wind ripped over the table. The windows were closed, however, and it hadn’t been windy when I’d entered. “Don’t break the circle!” warned Marshall. From that point on it got positively weird. Marshall started asking “the spirit” questions and it answered by rapping on the table. The table began tipping in response to questions too, which kind of freaked me out because I couldn’t figure

Mark A. Roeder

109

out how it was rigged to do that. It must’ve weighed a ton, as it was enormous— some two dozen of us were seated at it, and it still had plenty of room for more. I didn’t pay a lot of attention to the questions Marshall was asking. They were about when the ghost had lived and how he’d died and stuff like that. I was more interested in the events transpiring around me, like the candles going out and the whispering sound that seemed to float around us all as if something were flying ’round and ’round the table. The hair on the back of my neck was standing on end, and I felt as if I’d stepped into a deep freeze. A flowing grayish-white form shimmered into existence above the table, creating screams and cries from the guests. Some of those seated jumped up, knocking over their chairs. I just stared. The apparition looked so real, just like in the Haunted Mansion in Disney World. It didn’t stay for long, however; about as soon as people began screaming, it disappeared. The circle was broken and the séance over. Marshall relit the candles. I peered at the ceiling over the spot where the phantom had appeared, but I couldn’t see any wires or anything. I’d looked around during the séance for some kind of projector, but didn’t spot one. No one else seemed curious about how it was done. They were all happily chatting away, complimenting Marshall on the fright he’d given them. One main question sat in mind; had Marshall and Sean cooked up the effects for the séance—or was it real? Just as a test, I tried to lift the side of the table. Using all my strength, I could lift it a couple of inches off the floor, but I was trembling with the effort. The table had been tipping, sometimes wildly, during the séance. The candelabra had slid back and forth. I didn’t see how the table could be made to tip like that without some kind of hydraulic jacks or somethin’. “It was real.” I turned at the sound of the voice. It was Marshall the zombie. “Was it?” I asked, speaking for the first time during the party. It seemed safe enough as everyone else had returned to the dance. Besides, I was consumed by curiosity. “Oh yes. I’m quite pleased with the results. So often nothing happens, especially when focusing in on just one spirit.” “Why not try for just any ghost in the neighborhood?” “Not in this house,” said Marshall ominously. His tone of voice, more than anything else made me realize he was sincere in his beliefs. Either what we’d seen was real or Marshall was crazy. A little madness was a distinct possibility where Marshall was concerned, but I didn’t really think he was nuts, not truly.

Mark A. Roeder

110

I looked around me, slightly fearful the spirit from the séance or some other ghost might suddenly appear. I was still skeptical, however, and Marshall could read it in my eyes. He handed me a flashlight. “Check it out for yourself—you’ll find no wires, no projectors, and nothing capable of lifting this table.” He walked out of the room, leaving me alone. Marshall was certainly sure of himself. I flicked on the flashlight. First, I searched the floor under the table. There was nothing out of the ordinary. I searched also for wires. The ceiling, which in the candlelight was only shadows, was revealed in the light. There was nothing there but the ornate design of a tin ceiling. I searched the dining room thoroughly, but found nothing that should not have been there. It sent a chill up my spine. If Marshall had faked the séance, he’d done a damned good job of it. I was startled when I turned to see the blond pirate—the boy with the very long hair I’d noticed while dancing. I hadn’t heard him enter the room. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He was definitely a he, his voice was undeniably male. “I don’t recognize you,” I said. “Do you go to V.H.S.?” I’d given up on my idea of not speaking at the party. It was too difficult not to communicate and it made my throat ache to speak. Besides, this boy did not know me. I was sure of it. “I used to go there.” “Oh, so you’re a friend of Sean’s?” I asked. “Yes, yes I am.” I wanted to see him without his mask. It was just a narrow black cloth mask not unlike my own. His blue-green eyes shined through it. Something about those eyes held me motionless. “It’s a rather intriguing sensation to hide behind a mask, is it not?” he said. “Yes,” I smiled. I’d been rather enjoying it all evening as people tried to discover my identity. “A mask gives you freedom. It allows you to step in where you’d otherwise fear to tread. Remember that tonight, Skye.” He turned and disappeared. He was gone so quickly it was almost as if he’d just vanished. It wasn’t until I was once again standing alone in the dining room that I realized he’d called me by name. I returned to the wild activity of the dance floor, but did not catch sight of the blond pirate again. There was plenty to occupy my mind, however; the party was a blast.

Mark A. Roeder

111

I didn’t depart until around 2 a.m. The crisp, chill air helped shake me from the warm, cozy sleepiness I’d slipped into during the last hour of the party. I stretched, yearning for the comfort of my own bed. I’d walked a couple of blocks toward my car when I heard a boy’s voice cry, “Leave me alone!” There was a trembling quality to the voice that indicated great fear. I picked up my pace and could soon discern three figures in the shadows, standing over a fourth. “Come on, little faggot, why don’t you try to defend yourself?” I recognized the voice; it was Jeremy Herrington, our quarterback. “Please! I’ve never done anything to you guys!” I recognized that voice too, it was Oliver. Shit, Oliver. “Awww, don’t you think bein’ a queer is reason enough?” asked another boy, Glen Barrett likely. There was silence for a few moments. “You don’t hear him denying it, do you?” asked Jeremy. “I always knew you were a fag.” I drew closer. There were the sounds of a scuffle—the sounds of fists connecting with flesh. I wanted to rush to Oliver’s aid. I knew I should. He was a nice kid and no one should’ve been picking on him, but they were giving it to him because he was queer. If I stepped in, it would cast a shadow of doubt on my own sexual orientation. I couldn’t risk that. The Beta males would use any excuse to take over. I began to walk away, even though my conscience was fighting to drag me to Oliver’s aid. I could hear Oliver whimpering and crying out in pain. I saw Landon’s face staring at me, as if saying, “So you’re going to let it happen again?” Just then, I remembered the words the blond pirate had spoken to me in the dining room: A mask gives you freedom. It allows you to step in where you’d otherwise fear to tread. Remember that tonight, Skye. I turned on my heel. I drew courage from the pirate’s words and ran toward the scuffle. I tackled Jeremy, knocking him off Oliver. Even though he was dressed as Freddy Krueger, I recognized his “get off me fucker” as I took him down. All three of Oliver’s attackers pounced on me, but I was strong, far stronger than they. I nailed Jeremy with a right hook that probably loosened his teeth. The werewolf I was fighting was indeed Glen Barrett. He punched me in the gut and I returned the favor, only with much greater force. The third boy was Alex Allerbrook, also from our team. What in the hell were three jocks doing picking

Mark A. Roeder

112

on a defenseless little kid? It royally pissed me off. I punched Alex in the face, making blood pour from his nose. It was a fairly quick fight. Glen and Alex each grabbed one of my arms for a moment and Jeremy came in for the kill, but I jerked them off me and punched Jeremy in the jaw again. He went down. I turned on Glen, punching viciously, and moments later the bullies limped away. I looked at Oliver lying on the ground. I extended my hand and pulled him to his feet. He didn’t look too much the worse for wear. “Thanks,” he said. “Who are you?” I just looked at him for a moment and then disappeared into the night.

Oliver

I stood in the darkness as the masked outlaw vanished into the gloom, only he wasn’t an outlaw, he’d saved me. My stomach ached faintly, but I didn’t feel too beat up considering that three big guys had jumped me. Why did they have to do stuff like that? Where was the fun in beating up someone who had no chance of defending himself? One of them could’ve beaten me up and there were three of them. If the outlaw hadn’t kicked their butts they would’ve messed me up bad. I was still shaking slightly. I walked toward home. I doubted the three bullies would return, but I didn’t want to take chances. A masked man probably wouldn’t appear out of the darkness to save me again. I wished I knew who he was. I couldn’t tell in the dim light. He could’ve been fifteen or thirty-five. I was guessing he was high-school age, however, as he’d likely just come from Sean’s party. Then again, it was Halloween and there were lots of people running around in costumes, even this late at night. I guessed it wasn’t Halloween anymore. It was November the 1st. As far as I was concerned, though, November wouldn’t come until I’d had a good night’s sleep. I grinned. Despite getting jumped, it’d been a wonderful night. The party was totally cool. I was dressed as a scarecrow, complete with straw hat and face paint that made it all but impossible to figure out who I was. I’d even danced with boys! That’s what made my head spin. There was one dressed in old-fashioned clothes like they wore a hundred or more years before that I thought might’ve been Sean, but I wasn’t sure at all. There was another who was dressed like an angel. I had no idea who he was, but even with his mask I could tell he was strik- 113 -

Mark A. Roeder

114

ingly handsome. And then there was the pirate. I couldn’t believe it when he asked me to dance with him! I knew who he looked like, but it wasn’t possible. He bore a striking resemblance to Jordan from Phantom. He was wearing a mask, of course, but he looked so much like him my heart was beating a mile a minute. I knew he couldn’t be Jordan, however. No way! Never in a million years would he ever come to Verona. That was about as likely as the angel I danced with being a real angel. I wished every night was Halloween night, or that there would at least be a weekly costume party. I wasn’t the most outgoing guy in the world, but put me in disguise and I was far less shy! I wished I could do that without the costume, but that would be hard. Who knew? I was beginning to change, so maybe I’d work on being a bit more outgoing too. I was pleased with myself for not overeating at the party. I had a piece of chocolate cake and a couple of cookies that looked like fingers, but that was it. The cake looked almost too good to eat. Most of the foods were made to look as disgusting as possible, like eyeballs and various other body parts, but the cake was a huge affair that looked like a big graveyard. There were tombstones made out of some marshmallow-like stuff, chocolate mausoleums, and even bushes and trees made out of black cotton candy. I ate the small shrub on my piece and it was surprisingly delicious. I was losing weight and I felt thinner. I had a very long way to go, but like Skye said, nothing succeeds like success. When he first told me that, it didn’t seem to mean anything at all. But I understood it now. I was experiencing some success with my new eating plan, so I knew I could go on with it. I was hungry sometimes, but nothing like I had been on my diets. I wasn’t even eating all that much less than usual. My eating plan was definitely doable. It wasn’t a diet, but a way of changing my eating habits for life. So far, I hadn’t gained any weight when I’d weighed myself on Monday mornings, but I was prepared for when that happened. Skye said it was inevitable. When I got on the scale and weighed more than the week before, I wasn’t going to let it get me down. I was going to remind myself that my weight loss was a continuing process and even though I might gain a little sometimes, overall my weight was going down. I was exhausted as I approached home. I didn’t often get so very tired, but it was a pleasurable sensation. Just thinking about lying down in bed filled me with delicious anticipation. Nothing seemed so desirable just then as my comfy bed with its soft sheets and warm blankets. I couldn’t wait to just sink into it and drift off into pleasant dreams. I stumbled inside, said “goodnight” to Mom, who’d

Mark A. Roeder

115

been waiting up on me, and made my way to bed. I undressed and crawled under the covers. I think I was asleep even before my head hit the pillow.

Skye

The next morning I saw Alex in the hallway. His nose was bandaged and bruised. “What happened to you, man?” I asked. “You try to stop a truck with your face?” “Ha, Ha, Skye. Funny! I fell down the basement stairs. My stupid little brother left his skates on them. I should’ve kicked his skinny butt.” Basement stairs, huh? Yeah, right. Why not just say ‘I got my ass kicked when me and two other bullies were picking on a defenseless kid?’ “Hey, want me to help you?” I asked, as we neared a flight of stairs. “We wouldn’t want you falling down and hurting yourself again, would we?” “Fuck you, Skye.” I leaned in close so no one else could hear and gripped his arm hard, “If anyone’s gonna get fucked, it will be you, Alex.” He looked a little frightened when I let him go. It was just the expression I hoped to achieve. The Alpha male had to keep the Betas in line. I saw Glen a bit later. He had only one slight bruise on his face, but he was limping. It was a satisfying sight. I didn’t see Jeremy until we were changing for practice. “What the fuck happened to you?” asked Ben as Jeremy took off his shirt. Besides a black eye, Jeremy had bruises all over his arms and chest from where I’d beaten the shit out of him. I hadn’t been completely sure about the identity of Oliver’s attackers the night before, but the physical evidence left no doubt. “Four guys jumped me. I think they were from the Badgers team.”

- 116 -

Mark A. Roeder

117

“Those bastards!” said Ben. “They were probably trying to take you out so they can win on Friday.” The guys were pissed, and Jeremy was such a liar. I couldn’t confront him, however, without revealing I was the one who kicked his ass. I wasn’t afraid of Jeremy, or any of the guys, but anyone who rescued gay boys in distress was suspect. I hadn’t gotten over that fear, but at least I’d helped Oliver. It was a widely held belief that only a fag would come to the aid of a fag. Except, girls sometimes stepped in to stop name calling or something like that, but for a guy to jump in like I had was a sure sign of queerness to most people. I just couldn’t stand seeing Oliver take a beating he didn’t deserve, but my teammates might not have seen it that way. I was stronger and tougher than any of them, now that Jimmy was gone, but I was vastly outnumbered. If they knew I’d stood up for a queer, they’d smell blood. I looked into Jeremy’s eyes. He didn’t have a clue about who had kicked his ass—none of them did. I enjoyed my advantage immensely. I felt like Batman or Spiderman or some other superhero. I had a secret identity, striking out at injustice, at least for one night. Everyone seemed to have marks from the fight except for me. I was surprised. I’d taken some punches to the face that should’ve left bruises, but when I got home and looked in the mirror, it was just my usual handsome features looking back at me. It was a bit odd, but no more so than the things I’d seen in Graymoor. I derived a great deal of pleasure as I watched Jeremy, Glen, and Alex stiffly limp through practice. Yeah, that’s just what you fuckers deserve for picking on a defenseless kid. I felt powerful, more so than ever before. The previous night, I’d had a freedom I’d never before experienced. I was at the top of the high-school food chain, but there were certain things that even the Alpha male couldn’t do with impunity. The night before, there had been no barriers, no limits. I’d tasted complete freedom. My guilt over not coming to Landon’s rescue and the words of the blond pirate had made it possible. A mask gives you freedom. It allows you to step in where you’d otherwise fear to tread. I was sweaty after practice, even though there was a definite chill in the air; it was November after all. I hated to see winter come. It meant an end to the days when I could walk around without a shirt. I was already forced to keep my shirt on through much of practice. If I pulled it off before I’d heated up, my skin became chilled and my nipples hardened. At least I could still display my body in the showers and locker room. It was a necessary display—like a lion with his

Mark A. Roeder

118

mane. Showing the guys just what I had helped to keep any of them from getting ideas about taking over. That just wouldn’t do. After I dressed, I hopped in the Cutlass and drove to work. Oliver wasn’t there yet, which was odd, but he ambled in a few minutes later. He had a black eye and seemed more morose than usual—yet his step seemed lighter. It was a confusing contradiction. “You okay?” I asked. “Yeah, I guess. I just…never mind.” “Tell me.” “You wouldn’t care.” “Oh, come on, try me. Besides, you know how boring this place is. We’ve got nothin’ else to do, so spill your guts to Dr. Skye and maybe he can help you.” Oliver laughed, but only for a moment. “Some guys beat me up last night.” “Damn dude, I’m sorry. You know who it was?” “No, it was after the party. They were all wearing costumes. They were big, though. I think at least one of them was a football player. He sounded like that guy who’s picked on me before.” “You know his name?” “Glen, I think.” “Well, you don’t look too bad for someone who had three guys on him. Did ya jump up and beat ’em senseless?” I teased, making fists and punching into the air. Oliver grinned. “No, that was the weird thing. This guy saved me. He was dressed like an outlaw or cowboy or somethin’ and he was wearing a mask. He jumped on the guys that were beating me up and kicked their asses. He was like Superman or somethin’. He took out all three of ’em.” “Perhaps Verona has a new superhero,” I said in a dramatic voice. “Maybe you can be Jimmy Olsen.” “You’re funny, Skye. You didn’t used to be funny.” “Well, maybe I tripped over my sense of humor in the dark and picked it up.” “I’m really glad that guy came along,” said Oliver. “I was so scared and they were hurting me. I think they’d have beat me up real bad if he hadn’t come.” “Maybe,” I said. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” “I wish I knew who he was. I asked, but he didn’t say a word. He just disappeared—all mysterious like.” I smiled. So now I was mysterious? It was too bad Halloween wasn’t every night, then maybe I could go around defending the weak and fighting crime like

Mark A. Roeder

119

Batman. I could even wear a cool costume with a cape and maybe something nice and tight that showed off my bod. My grin widened. I was glad Oliver couldn’t read my mind, for more than one reason. Oliver and I got to talking about the party and how fun and freaky it was. He’d been in on the séance, and he thought it was real. I still wasn’t sure, but I didn’t see how it could’ve been faked—not after I’d checked everything out. I was beginning to see Oliver in a new light. I’d all but ignored him before, because he didn’t dress in cool A&F clothes and he was definitely no jock, but he was kind of interesting. He was so different from me it was kind of cool to just see what he said about things. I’d never really stopped to think that someone could think differently from me. I knew different people had different interests, but I’d always thought that everyone wanted to be buff, dress in cool clothes, and just generally be cool. I don’t think Oliver had ever been in A&F or even The Gap and the weird thing is, it wasn’t because he couldn’t afford it; it was because he just didn’t like those clothes. I didn’t even know it was possible to not like A&F stuff. Oliver had zero interest in sports. I’d assumed that was because he sucked at them, but he just didn’t care. It blew me away. He listened if I said something about football, but I could tell he’d rather be talking about something else. Oliver intrigued me. He was like a movie where you don’t know what’s going to happen next. “You ever play Ages of Empire?” asked Oliver. “Playstation game?” I asked. “I haven’t heard of it.” “I don’t think it’s on Playstation. It’s a computer game. It’s totally cool and addictive. What you do is, you build a city with houses, farms for food, and stuff. While you’re mining gold and stone and chopping down trees to build stuff, your opponents are too. You have to create armies and build defenses, because your opponents will start attacking pretty fast.” “That actually sounds kind of cool.” “It’s awesome! I can play it for hours. You ought to try it sometime. If you’ve got internet, we could play against each other. I can loan you my CD and you can install it. You don’t have to have the disk in if you’re playing over the internet.” “I don’t have much free time, but it sounds like fun.” “I’ll bring the CD tomorrow and you can play it some before you take me on. I’m really good.” “Think you can beat me, huh?” I asked.

Mark A. Roeder

120

“I will kick your ass,” he said, grinning. Those are words I never thought I’d hear coming from Oliver. I nearly laughed out loud. Perhaps Oliver was cooler than I’d thought. I was glad I’d had the balls to step in and save him. Maybe, just maybe, I’d kept him from going the way of Landon. Who knew? I thought a lot about Landon. He’d been of no importance in my life whatsoever. He was just a towel boy who was most likely queer. I thought I was giving him a big thrill by letting him see me naked—like it was some kind of selfless act on my part, when really it was nothing. What he really needed from me I hadn’t given him, and I’m not just talking about how I should’ve stepped in to save him. I should’ve let him know he was okay. Of course, my big fuck-up had been not stopping Greg and Ben from beating him up. I could’ve stopped them with a word, but I didn’t because I was too afraid the finger of doubt would be pointed at me. Why was that so terrifying? Coach Brewer was openly gay and hardly anyone gave him any grief about it, as far as I knew. He was respected by the guys on the team. Yeah, there was joking around sometimes by some of the guys. They’d say stuff like, “Don’t bend over in the shower if Coach is around,” or “Hey, Skye, I heard Coach thinks you’re hot,” but they didn’t mean anything by it. It was just making fun of a teacher—you know, tradition, and a way to blow off steam after he’d put us through a tough workout. To be honest, I hadn’t even thought much about queers before Landon, except that I didn’t want to be called one. That was like some kind of death sentence. I felt sorry for Landon when guys called him pillow-biter and faggot, but that’s just the way things were. My heart went out to him when he was getting beat up, but still, it wasn’t my affair—at least that’s what I’d thought. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Okay, I’ll shut up about Landon now. I know I’ve been pounding that topic into the ground, but if you had the guilt I do pressing down on your shoulders, you’d be thinking about it a lot too. I wished I could put things back like they had been. My eyes had been opened, and I was seeing things I was blind to before. It really, really sucked because I’d been basically happy most of the time. Now, I was seeing the pain and sadness around me and it kept eating at me. I felt like I couldn’t be happy because others weren’t happy. It pissed me off! I wanted my ignorance back! I know, I know. That’s selfish. Don’t climb on my ass for it because I’m already there. I know it’s probably for the best, or it wouldn’t have happened. Just allow me my period of anger or denial or whatever psychological stage it is I’ve been going through. Cut me some slack. I’m only sixteen after all.

Mark A. Roeder

121

Okay, I’m gonna admit somethin’ now I don’t want to, so pay attention because you probably won’t hear this again. I’m afraid. I know what I should be doing, sticking up for guys like Oliver, but I’m afraid to do it. When you’ve just about got it all, it’s damn hard to risk losing it, and standing up for queers and outcasts is a pretty good way to lose it. Recently, I’ve felt like I can sense the Betas circling, like they smell weakness and are just waiting their chance—so I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I know what I should do, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do it. There, I said it. Remember it, because I doubt you’ll hear it again.

Oliver

I climbed into the back of Clay’s car, or rather his mom’s car. She was driving and Clay was sitting in back. She pulled away from the house and I felt kind of like I was in a chauffeured limousine, even though it was just a Buick LeSabre. “How many fingers do I have up?” asked Clay, holding his hand in a Vulcan salute. I laughed. Clay was so cool. I returned the gesture. It wasn’t easy. It took practice to separate my middle fingers while keeping the others together. I’d heard that some of the Star Trek actors had lots of trouble doing it. I sure hoped Leonard Nimoy wasn’t one of them. It would be kind of funny if Spock couldn’t do the Vulcan salute. It took about an hour to get to the convention center in South Bend. It was cool—right on the river. I looked out the huge plate-glass windows while we were waiting in line for tickets. I loved running water. Sometimes, people fished for trout in the river, right in the middle of downtown South Bend. There was even an area for river rafting that most people knew nothing about. It was weird that that was right there in the middle of all the traffic and big buildings. I’d never been to a Star Trek convention before. It was kind of like being on a starship. Most people were dressed normal like Clay and I, but there were lots with Starfleet uniforms and some were even wearing Klingon and Romulan stuff. I don’t know where they got costumes like that. They probably made them themselves. There was tons of stuff for sale, but most of it was kind of expensive. I did find a couple of novels I didn’t have and they were only $2.50 each. I was pleased. I

- 122 -

Mark A. Roeder

123

was working hard on assembling a set of all the Star Trek novels. They put them out so fast it was hard to keep up! Clay bought a picture of Dr. Crusher, and we both got photos of Counselor Troi for her to sign later. I couldn’t believe I was actually going to meet her. We sat in on a trivia contest. That’s where I learned for sure that I wasn’t a hardcore Trekkie. Those guys knew everything! I had no clue as to Captain Kirk’s cabin number or in what episode Q first appeared. I just liked the shows. I didn’t try to memorize them. They even asked a question about what book was on Captain Picard’s desk in a certain episode and someone knew the answer! It was unreal. I was half-afraid that everyone was going to turn and point at Clay and me and say something like, “Not one of us.” Next we watched a bunch of Star Trek bloopers, which I’d never seen before. My favorite was the one where Spock said, “The plants should act as a suppository.” Clay about fell out of his chair laughing. After that, we went around pointing to things saying, “That could act as a suppository.” If you don’t know what a suppository is, go look it up, ’cause I don’t wanna say. We went to an auction where they had lots of cool Star Trek stuff. I bought soundtracks from Star Trek II, III, and IV for only $8! They sold some hand casts Counselor Troi had made just a while before, but they went for $150. I hoped the guy who bought them didn’t drop them or something because the cement was still wet. Clay and I had burgers and fries for lunch. I allowed myself to splurge a little on the fries. The cool thing about my eating plan was that I could have stuff like that—sometimes. I did have a Diet Coke instead of a regular, of course. Skye was right, I was already getting used to them. I had a lot of fun sitting there at the small table with Clay. It was almost like a dream. The coolest part was that Clay seemed to think I was cool. He laughed at my jokes, even the stupid ones, and he played along when I acted like the elevators were turbo lifts on the Enterprise. He thought it was funny as hell when I stood in the middle of the elevator saying “level three” instead of pushing the button. I kept saying it louder, like I really expected the elevator to be voice activated. The big event was when Marina Sirtis, Counselor Troi, spoke to the convention. She had a British accent, which kind of shocked me. I knew she was an actor who played a part on Star Trek, but I think part of me expected her to be Counselor Troi. I knew all that wasn’t real, but a part of me still felt like it was. I loved the stuff she told us about the show—little things about how the doors of the bridge sometimes didn’t open and Data or Worf or someone would plow

Mark A. Roeder

124

right into them, or how the actors tried to make each other laugh sometimes. She wasn’t quite like Counselor Troi, but she was really cool. She talked for about 45 minutes and then we got in the autograph line. Talk about a long wait! There must’ve been hundreds of people in line. I didn’t mind, though, since Clay was right beside me. I think I could’ve been happy doing about anything if I was with him. I thought of Ken briefly. It was so weird going out with two different boys when I wasn’t used to going out with anyone at all. I don’t think you could call what Clay and I were doing a date, but he obviously liked me, so maybe we would be dating sometime soon. My trip to the movies with Ken was definitely a date. We held hands, so that made me sure. I wondered what I’d do if both Ken and Clay were interested in me. I guess that would be a cool problem and one I never thought I’d have. That was for sure! I wanted to hold Clay’s hand, or hug him or something, but I didn’t know how he would react. Of course, I wouldn’t do it in public, or in front of his mom. I kind of wanted to kiss him, too, but I was way too scared to do that, especially on the lips. Maybe, if he turned out to be interested in me, I could give him a kiss on the cheek or something. The thought of it filled me with joy. After what seemed like forever, we made it to the head of the line. Clay tried to speak to Counselor Troi as she was signing his picture, but he got all tongue-tied and his face turned crimson. She said, “You’re really very cute when you’re embarrassed,” in her beautiful British accent. Clay turned even redder. “I love watching you on the show. It’s awesome to get to meet you,” I said, without a stutter. She asked my name and put “To Oliver” on the photo before she signed it. I was gonna frame it and hang it on my wall. I couldn’t believe I’d really met Counselor Troi! “I feel like such a fool,” said Clay, as we walked away. “Nah, you just got excited, and she did say you were cute.” Clay smiled. He was cute. I hoped that when he looked at me, he could find something cute about me as well. I wished I already had the weight off, but I was getting there and I had a lot to offer. I thought about what Ethan had said at the last meeting, about self-esteem. I was working hard to feel better about myself and it was beginning to work. I had a long way to go, but starting was half the battle. We messed around at the convention until it was time for Clay’s mom to pick us up. We talked all the way home. I didn’t know if Clay would ever be my boyfriend, but I sure felt like he’d become my friend and that was nearly as cool.

Mark A. Roeder

125

Having a friend like Clay made me feel even better about myself. I could get used to being happy.

Skye

“That’s so…cheap,” I said. I very nearly said gay, but I was trying to eliminate that word and others like it from my vocabulary. At least I wanted to quit using them in ways that could hurt someone. I’d been thinking about how boys like Oliver must feel when someone said, “Oh, that’s gay,” or “He’s such a faggot,” right in front of them. Even if it wasn’t directed at them, it was still saying, “Something’s wrong with you; why don’t you go die or something.” I couldn’t be like that anymore. I’d seen the grief caused by it. Landon had shouted it at me without speaking right before he took his own life. His eyes had said it all. “Yeah, well, that’s the school for you,” said Scott. We were talking about how the cafeteria was going to start charging separately for milk. It used to be included in the lunch price. Most people didn’t drink milk anyway. They went straight for the Coke machines after getting their tray. It was interesting how much time we spent talking about things that just didn’t matter. “You coming to the game tonight?” I asked. “Ah, you know I am. I gotta watch my hero play.” “Shut up.” Scott laughed. The bell rang, signaling that we were both late. It was no biggie. I was wearing my football jersey. It was kind of like a hall pass. I knew I could walk in late on a game day without the teacher saying anything.

- 126 -

Mark A. Roeder

✶

✶

✶

127

✶

Jeremy only played the first quarter. He was still suffering from the aftereffects of getting his ass kicked. Coach suspected he might have a cracked rib because he was complaining of pain in his lower chest. Coach said he didn’t want him playing again until he’d had it x-rayed. Jimmy was gone, so that left me. I was finally going to be the quarterback in a real game. The Badgers weren’t the toughest team around, but they were no pushover either. Ben had scored a touchdown near the end of the first quarter, and Avery had kicked the extra point, so we were up 7-0. I intended to maintain our lead. Since Jimmy was permanently out of the picture, I was the number one choice to replace Jeremy when he graduated. I had no illusions about replacing him before that. Jeremy was a better player than I was, as much as I hated to admit it. But graduation would get him out of my way, so I was thinking about next year. The second quarter didn’t start out so well. I was sacked almost instantly. It wasn’t my fault, though. Glen and Alex had their heads up their asses or somewhere and let not one, but two Badgers through our defensive line. Coach Brewer was not happy, but luckily it wasn’t my fault. The next play went smoothly. I passed to Ben and he gained us fifteen yards before a couple of Badgers tackled him and piled on top of him. Ben was a cocky little bastard and I kind of enjoyed seeing him go down, although I would rather he’d have gone on to score again. He was an excellent receiver. Ben fumbled on the next play. Okay, maybe he wasn’t such a great receiver, or maybe he was and he just messed up. My pass was near perfect. I dropped the ball right in his hands, but he dropped it. We nearly lost possession, but he threw himself on the ball. I felt like pounding him. I faked a pass to Ben on the next play. The Badgers were watching for another one. They thought for sure I’d throw to Ben again. Instead, I leaped over a linebacker and tore down the field like a bat out of hell. I would’ve made it if I could’ve zigzagged past one last player. His positioning was just too good. I tried, but just couldn’t get through. There was no shame in that. I’d gained us a lot of yardage. I scored a touchdown on the next play. I’d planned to pass to Ben, but the other team anticipated that again, and he couldn’t get into the clear. An opening presented itself, so I tucked the ball against my torso and forged ahead.

Mark A. Roeder

128

I was just sure I’d get taken down, but every defender who lunged for me missed by a hair. I knocked one opponent on his ass and just kept on running. Seconds later I’d scored! The crowd jumped to their feet, letting the blankets they’d been huddled in fall to the stands. I let the sound of their cheers wash over me, basking in it. Yeah, I know my touchdown was a team effort and the crowd was cheering for my teammates, too. But it was directed at me, and I’m the one who got to feel the energy of it, and it was tremendous. It was even better than the endorphin rush I felt when lifting weights. This was what it was all about. The Badgers scored on us, but only twice. Their place-kicker only managed to get it through the goal posts once. He wasn’t near as good as Avery, who had turned out to be a kick-ass kicker. The boy didn’t miss—ever. I scored another touchdown and passed to others who scored. We ended the game 49-13. The guys even carried me off the field on their shoulders! I was in heaven. In the showers, guys were slapping me on the back and congratulating me. I just closed my eyes and let the hot water beat down on my muscles. Sometimes, I didn’t think there was anything better than a hot shower. I looked around the showers, taking stock of the others. I was definitely the best built. No one had a chest that looked as good as mine. Jeremy came kind of close to me as far as biceps were concerned, but even his weren’t as developed. And I’d done it all without steroids. Okay, I did take ’em twice, but I hardly think that made any difference. Jimmy had taken them a long time to achieve his physique. In my mind, that disqualified him. I bet he wouldn’t have passed me up if he’d had to do it the hard way. It’s just too bad his shortcut had earned him death. Greg had me beat in one way; the boy was hung like a horse. I wondered how he kept from passing out when he got a hard-on. I laughed out loud for a moment picturing it. He’d be getting all ready to go and then, bam, he’d slump over unconscious. I could just hear the girls saying, “Yeah, he’s got a huge one, but he can’t do anything with it.” I hoped for Greg’s sake it wasn’t the truth. Greg was the only one that beat me out in length. I’d observed that I was of more than average size. I wasn’t a freak like Greg, but I had more than my share. I wondered if I’d ever get to use it. Well, I’d used it plenty, but I mean with a partner. I bet none of the guys would’ve guessed I was a virgin, but that was my secret. I was always so fucking busy I didn’t have time to date! I rinsed off, got myself a towel from the stack—we had no towel boy since Landon killed himself—and then dried off and dressed in the locker room. It was

Mark A. Roeder

129

kind of sad to have to put away my jersey, but it was grimy and had to go in the wash, no doubt about it. I walked out to the Cutlass and was about to get in, when the blond boy I’d seen Halloween night came up to me. It was the first time I’d seen him without a mask, but there was no mistaking him. Gone was the pirate costume, and in its place was a pair of light-blue jeans and a tight white shirt, covered with a pale-green flannel shirt. His blond hair flowed over his shoulders. The moonlight sparkled in his eyes, almost casting some kind of spell on me. “Hey, I wanted to ask, how do you know my name? You said my name at the party on Halloween, but I never told you what it was.” “I know a lot of things,” he said. That wasn’t the answer I wanted. He was so mysterious. “Do you live in Verona?” I asked. I didn’t see how he could. He was my age, sixteen at most. Unless he was home-schooled or something, he had to go to V.H.S. if he lived in Verona. “You could say I live in a lot of places, but I spend most of my time in Verona.” “Then why have I never seen you?” “I don’t always want to be seen.” “Huh?” “I’ll explain later, maybe…but the time is near.” “Time for what?” “History is about to repeat itself.” “You’re very strange,” I said, crossing my arms. The blond boy laughed. His voice was musical, his laughter a song. “You need to go to the football field.” “The game’s over, dude.” “Yes, but Sean and Nick are going to need your help.” “Sean and Nick, the…” I was about to say queers, but stopped myself. “The guys who had the party?” “The same.” “Dude, are you playing some kind of game with me? This is just totally weird.” “Trust me,” he said and for some reason I did. “Okay, what do I do?” I was feeling rather confused, but I thought I might as well play it out. “Go to the football field and then put your hand in your right pocket. You’ll figure out the rest.”

Mark A. Roeder

130

“Ooookaaay,” I said. “But why am I…hey…where’d you go?” I looked around and there was no sign of the blond boy. He’d disappeared in the darkness. It was like he was never there. Why did he keep disappearing on me? I realized I hadn’t even asked his name. My curiosity propelled me toward the site of my recent victory. I nearly climbed into my car and drove away, but something was calling to me from the football field. The blond boy had created a little mystery I couldn’t resist. I thought for a moment it was some kind of setup. Maybe some of the Badgers were lurking in the shadows to work me over the way Jeremy had claimed they did him, only this time for real. Maybe the blond was a Badger and was leading me into a trap. But somehow in my heart I knew that wasn’t true, and so I walked on. The massive banks of lights that lit up the field like day were already shut off. The football field was bathed in moonlight, making it look blue-green. The bleachers were dark, except for the soft, golden glow of a single light bulb here and there along the railings. I stopped when I reached the edge of the field and then put my hand in my right pocket, just as the blond boy had said I should. I felt something small and soft there. I pulled out a long narrow strip of black cloth. It was the mask I’d worn Halloween night. Had I slipped it in my pocket and forgotten it? I couldn’t remember. I had no time to think about it for I heard a cry in the darkness. It all made sense. I instinctively knew what I had to do. I slipped the mask over my eyes, tying it in the back, and then ran through the darkness, toward the cry. I sped around the bleachers to find a struggle going on. Two figures stood back to back, surrounded by four more, or perhaps it was five. I couldn’t make out the details in the dim light. “F-a-g-g-o-t-s,” chanted a voice I didn’t recognize as the figures around the outside circled those in the center. The chanting was eerie and frightening. I peered closer as my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Yes, there were five figures there, surrounding the two. Five against one, not the best of odds for me, but then the two would surely jump in. They were doing a fair job at keeping the pack of boys at bay. I could discern different voices, but not one of them was familiar. This wasn’t Jeremy, or Glen, or any of that crowd. I crept close enough I could make out some faces. Yes, it was Sean and Nick in the center. I recognized no one else. More than likely, the others were Badgers. I slowly closed the distance between us, not making a sound. I closed in on the pack and lunged. I hurled myself at the biggest of the attackers, grabbing him

Mark A. Roeder

131

from behind and pulling him backwards. I slammed him to the ground, dropped on him and knocked him out with two hard and quick punches to the head before he could even defend himself. The element of surprise was gone, however, and I found myself knocked to the side by two of the attackers. I grunted as I received a hard punch to the stomach. Two of them were on me at once, but I came up swinging. I caught one in the jaw and rushed the other as if he were a lineman crouched across from me. He landed on his back, and the force of my weight knocked the breath out of him. His buddy pulled me backwards, but I was on him in a second, my fists flying. I downed him with a series of punches to the stomach and face that left him conscious but rolling on the ground, moaning in pain. I saw Nick down one of the attackers by turning his back and then kicking out behind him. He caught his assailant squarely in the nuts. The boy groaned and dropped like a ton of bricks. I guessed queers could fight. Sean and Nick both pounced on their other attacker, while I took on the remaining one who wasn’t unconscious or writhing on the ground. He punched me in the jaw so hard I thought I could feel my teeth loosen. I came right back at him, however, with a swift punch to his own jaw that sent him down for the count. I felt oddly energized, as if I were stronger when I fought. Right then, I felt like I could bench 250 easily, maybe even 300. Sean and Nick subdued their man, and it was all over. Between us, we’d taken out all five attackers. I looked at their faces. I didn’t know any of them. “Thanks, man,” said Sean. “You really…” He stopped and gazed at me, looking at my mask. I turned quickly and disappeared into the night. ✶

✶

✶

✶

Oliver came up to me in the halls the next morning. “Dude, you remember that masked guy who saved me? Well, Nick told me they saw him last night. They were surrounded by this bunch of guys who were going to kick the shit outta ’em and he just showed up out of nowhere and saved their butts. Then, he just disappeared. The dude is like Batman or something.” I grinned. “A masked man? Halloween is over, Oliver.” “Seriously! I bet it’s the same one. They said he was just dressed normal, except for the mask, but he was built and had dark hair. He didn’t say a word, just like the guy who saved me. This is so incredible! He’s like some kind of superhero who protects gay boys!” “Well, the world is filled with freaks,” I said.

Mark A. Roeder

132

“He’s not a freak.” “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Freaks can be fun. Hell, some people think I’m a freak because I work out all the time.” “I just can’t believe it,” said Oliver. “I wanna find out who that guy is. He could be anyone…well, not anyone, but he could go to our school or something and we’d never know.” “I’ll tell you what. I’ll keep my eye out for a mysterious masked man. If I see him, I’ll ask his name.” Oliver lightly punched me in the shoulder. I laughed. “I gotta go dude or I’ll be late for English,” I said. I was beginning to feel like Clark Kent, but then Bruce Wayne was closer to the mark. Superman was from another planet and had all those special powers, while Batman just had strength and a lot of cool toys. I was kind of like Batman—except I didn’t have the cool toys, and I didn’t have a costume, and I went to high school instead of living in a big manor, and I didn’t have a bat cave. Damn, what did I have? I had my own body, a growing desire to make a difference, and a mask. The mask is what made it all so cool. ✶

✶

✶

✶

During the following month, I kind of felt like I was living in a comic book. I took to prowling the streets of Verona at night. So what if nothing happened most of the time? If Batman was real, it would’ve been like that for him, too. You really think he had to save someone every night? It seems like it in the comic books and the movies, but they don’t show everything. They leave out all the not so exciting stuff. I mean, who wants to hear about the times when nothing happened? I did step in and kick some ass. I caught Ben at it again. I found him standing over some kid who couldn’t have been more than fourteen, all ready to beat the crap outta him. He’d already punched the kid in the stomach once. I slipped on my mask, which I’d taken to carrying in my pocket, ran in from the side and decked Ben. I don’t know why, but it was always particularly satisfying to feel my fist making contact with some part of Ben’s body. He was such a jerk my fist just yearned to punch him sometimes. I took the kid home, but didn’t utter a word. I think he told people what happened. It was right after that that people really got to talking about “the masked man” at school. During the same time, football season ended. I was sorry to see it go, but wrestling season was just beginning, and I was eager to get on the mat. Where football

Mark A. Roeder

133

was a team effort, wrestling was one on one. Whatever I accomplished in each match was all mine.

Oliver

Ken arrived shortly after the meeting began. I waved to him and he waved back, but there were no open seats next to me, so he took a chair off to the side of the room. I was sitting right next to Clay. I felt almost guilty, as if I’d been caught cheating, but how could I be cheating when Ken and I weren’t dating? We’d been on one date, but neither of us had said anything about being boyfriends. Part of me wanted to talk to him about it so I’d know just where I stood. Another part wanted to keep things vague so I could explore my options. If Ken and I started dating, then I sure couldn’t go out with Clay—not as anything more than friends, that is. Of course, that might be all there would ever be between Clay and me, and I guess that was okay, but if there could be more, I wanted to explore my options. Ken or Clay? That was going to be a hard choice if I had to make it. Maybe I wouldn’t make it. Maybe I’d just try to be friends with both and leave it at that. Maybe we could all be friends. I wasn’t sure I was ready for a boyfriend, but then again the idea appealed to me. Boyfriends could take things slow. I wasn’t ready to get physical. I wanted to hold hands and hug and maybe kiss a little, but anything more was a bit frightening. Yeah, I thought of more and wanted more in a way, but it was all pretty overwhelming. I wouldn’t have admitted this to anyone, but there were a lot of things about sex I still didn’t understand. I wanted to learn more about it before I did it or I’d probably look like a complete fool. I had a secret fear I wouldn’t be any good at it and whoever I was with would laugh at me. I also wasn’t excited about anyone seeing me naked. It was just too…personal. On top of that, the whole idea of sex was just plain scary. - 134 -

Mark A. Roeder

135

Ethan was talking about plans for a gay-youth Christmas party to be held on his farm. We could invite guests who didn’t necessarily have to be gay or bisexual, just whomever we wanted to bring. Our parents were invited too. Ethan and his boyfriend were going to cook up a big buffet with all kinds of food and lots of desserts, but everyone was free to bring cookies or whatever. When Ken walked in, the discussion was about whether or not to exchange gifts. Nathan suggested that if we did we should draw names and there should be a limit of $10 to be spent on the gift. Everyone liked the sound of that idea as it would be too expensive to buy something for everyone else. I was getting excited about the whole Christmas-party idea, even though it was over a month away. I loved Christmas—the decorations, the wrapping paper, Christmas cookies and candy, the lights and trees—just everything. It was such a beautiful time of year. I hoped there would be snow, but that wasn’t much of a worry in northern Indiana. Snow was not a rarity at Christmastime in Verona. In fact, I couldn’t remember a year when there hadn’t been a white Christmas. Ethan asked for volunteers to operate the hotline number. It was a toll-free number anyone who needed help could call. It was operated for only certain hours per day, but people could call Ethan’s number after hours. There was to be a training session right after the meeting, and I thought I’d sit in on it. Since the youth group was doing so much to help me, I wanted to help others as much as I could, too. The next part of the meeting was the one I liked best—where everyone just brought up their thoughts, feelings, and problems. Hearing other kids my age and older talk about their fears and worries let me know I wasn’t alone. Sometimes, I felt like saying, “That’s exactly how I feel!” Sometimes, I did say it. Another cool thing about being around others who were opening up is that it made it easier for me to do the same. I was becoming downright outgoing within the group. I talked about things I never thought I’d talk about with anyone else, like how being fat made me feel. Everyone was so supportive. If I said the same stuff in school, guys would just tell me to quit crying about it or call me “fat ass” or something, but not in the youth group; I felt safe there. Ethan and Nathan were totally cool. They were the only older gay guys I knew, except for Coach Brewer at school. I had him for P.E. It was my least favorite class, but not because of Mr. Brewer. Without him, I think it would’ve been unbearable. It was just all the volleyball and basketball and stuff that made me dislike it so. I hated playing team sports, except for flag football which was kind of fun. Anyway, Ethan and Nathan made me feel like I was going to turn out okay. They were way older than me, happy, and seemed to have it all under

Mark A. Roeder

136

control. It gave me hope I could do it too. It was also cool knowing I could talk to them about stuff I was afraid to discuss with my parents. That was a huge relief right there. Everyone stayed for the training session, so it was just like our regular meeting continued. Both Ethan and Nathan talked about how to handle someone who was depressed, what to say and not say, and more. I hadn’t realized there was so much to it. I didn’t know if I was up to the task, but then Ethan or Nathan were always available by phone if anyone got in over their head. There was a list of emergency numbers taped to the top of the desk where the hotline phone was located. It made me nervous thinking I might have to call 911 someday. At least that was one number I could easily remember. Others weren’t so easy. That’s why there was a list, including tons of hotline numbers all over the country. I didn’t know it before, but the gay-youth hotline in Verona got calls from all over, and sometimes kids were referred by Verona to centers closer to them so they could go there for help. It must’ve taken forever to track down all that information. We were all given a folder filled with pamphlets and other information to look over in case we wanted to volunteer. The idea of answering the hotline phone was kind of intimidating, but, still, I wanted to help. It’s not like I’d have to do it all alone, either. Ethan and Nathan were always available as a safety net and there were even trained social workers we could contact for the tough stuff, like someone thinking of killing himself. After the training session, we broke up for our usual card games and chats. Sean and Nick were telling everyone about being attacked and how a masked man had jumped in to save them. I’d heard about it before, but I didn’t mind hearing it again. I joined the little group surrounding them, as did Clay and Ken. “Something similar happened to me,” I said. I told everyone what had gone down on Halloween night and they listened with great interest. “Who was that masked man?” said Clay in a mysterious voice before he laughed. “I wish I knew,” said Sean, “but he disappeared just like that.” Sean snapped his fingers. That’s just how it had been when he saved me. He came out of nowhere and disappeared just as fast. I was going to stick around and play Monopoly or Bullshit, but Ken motioned with his head for me to follow and went out the door. I quickly caught up with him. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said. “There’re too many people in there.” “Don’t like crowds, huh?”

Mark A. Roeder

137

“No. I prefer things one on one.” He grinned at me as we stepped out onto the sidewalk. It was already getting dark, even though it wasn’t all that late. Winter had come. I buttoned up my flannel shirt, wishing I’d brought a jacket. There was a definite chill in the air. One thing I’d noticed about losing weight was that I didn’t stay as warm. I guess fat had insulating properties. I’d sure be glad to be cooler in the summer months, but in the winter it was a drawback. It was one I was more than willing to endure, however, because everything else about losing weight rocked! I was noticeably thinner and I felt great! Ken took my hand, which made me feel all warm inside. I was kind of nervous about walking hand in hand, but then again, it was dark and no one could see us. We walked to Sean’s house, the old Graymoor place, and stood looking at it for a long time. There were a few lights in the windows, but mostly it was dark, ominous, and somewhat frightening. I still loved it, though. It was my favorite house in Verona. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked. I thought for a moment that Ken had a sneer on his face, but it must’ve been a trick of the light, because he answered, “More beautiful than most people know.” Was it just me, or was Ken just about perfect? At just that moment, he leaned over and kissed my cheek. I was in heaven. I smiled at him. I wanted more than anything to kiss him back, but I couldn’t summon the courage, not even for a simple kiss on the cheek. Ken didn’t seem to mind. I loved how he was so patient with me. I began to speak, stopped, started again, and once more halted—all without uttering a sound. Why was it so hard to say certain things and ask certain questions? Why did the right words flee from my mind just when I needed them the most? I tried again. “Ken, are we like…what I mean is…we went out…on a date. Are we just friends, or are we more than friends?” “What do you want us to be?” Oh, how I wished he hadn’t answered my question with a question. I hesitated. “I’m not sure what I want.” His face darkened. “You’re not sure? You’re not sure you want to be my boyfriend? Is there someone else?” I didn’t have to answer for Ken to know the truth. “There is, isn’t there,” he said angrily. It was amazing how quickly his features were transformed by his anger. I shrank back from him.

Mark A. Roeder

138

“Who is it?” he demanded. “You’ve been going out with someone behind my back? How could you?” I wanted to protest, to tell him we weren’t exactly dating, so what did it matter who I went with or what we did. “Listen, Clay and I…” “Clay? The boy from the youth group? So, that’s the one, huh? You think he’s cuter than I am, or what?” “I don’t know, no…listen. We just…” “I don’t want to hear it, Oliver! How could you?” Ken turned quickly on his heel and stalked away. I wanted to run after him and explain, but he was so enraged he frightened me. More than that, I felt guilty, as if I’d betrayed him. I hadn’t meant to, but he was so angry I must’ve done something wrong. I guess I should’ve sat down with him first thing and had him spell things out for me. Instead, I’d messed everything up. Ken probably hated me now. One thing was for sure, I could forget having him as a boyfriend. He’d never have me. Why did something like this have to happen when everything was going so well? I was beginning to slim down. I had two boys interested in me—I think. And, I was feeling better about myself. Maybe I was just kidding myself, though. I was still fat. Clay probably wouldn’t want to be anything more than friends, and Ken was so furious over Clay he’d probably never speak to me again. I’d lost anything I might’ve had with him. Why did I even try? I was a loser. I might as well just go home and eat my weight in donuts, I thought to myself, and that’s a lot of donuts.

Skye

Something kind of weird was going on—I mean, besides me running around town with a mask in my pocket. I’ll admit that was bizarre, but don’t we all have hobbies? Is running around with a mask in your pocket all that different from gardening or collecting stamps or some other hobby? I dunno, you decide. Anyway, most of the times I rescued someone I was pointed in their direction by the blond boy I’d met on Halloween night. He’d walk up to me in the park, or to my table in Ofarim’s, or Café Moffatt, or wherever and tell me to go someplace. I’d go and, sure as hell, there’d be something going down. Once, it was an old guy trying to force a boy into his truck. Another time, it was a gang of grade-school boys getting ready to beat the shit outta one of their classmates. I didn’t have to throw any punches either of those times. The old guy kind of freaked out when he saw me, jumped in his truck and took off. The grade-school boys were instantly cowed when they saw my muscles. There were other times, too, but I’m sure you don’t want to hear about them all. It was the same old thing—put on the mask, kick some ass and move on. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking and you’re right: I got off on it. It was such a rush! But, hey, who ever said I couldn’t have fun while I cleaned up the streets? I never did manage to get the blond boy’s name until he walked up to me in the park one evening. Usually, he just told me to go somewhere, and then he was gone without so much as a “thank you,” but this time he came and sat down by me on the bench. “You’ve been busy,” he said.

- 139 -

Mark A. Roeder

140

“Yeah, well, between school, work, wrestling, working out and saving the world, there isn’t much time to rest.” I grinned. I was under no illusions that I was saving the world. I was just cleaning up my little part of it, and Verona was a very small place. “Hey,” I said, “before you disappear on me again, tell me your name.” “Taylor.” I nodded. I knew at last. It seemed to fit. “So, what do you do…like…just track down trouble and come and tell me about it? Don’t you have a day job or school or something?” Taylor laughed. “I keep pretty busy and my job goes on twenty-four hours a day.” “Who are you?” I asked. “I’ll tell you that when you’re ready to know,” he said. I peered at him in the evening light. He seemed somehow familiar. Maybe it was just because our paths had crossed a few times, but I almost felt like I’d seen him somewhere before. “Why do you always have to be so fucking mysterious?” I asked. “That’s just it,” he said. “I have to be.” “I don’t get it.” “You will.” “Ah! You drive me crazy!” “But you don’t really mind,” said Taylor. “No,” I said, grinning. “Have you figured out why you’re saving these boys yet?” asked Taylor. “Because they need saving. Who else is gonna do it if I don’t? I mean, who you gonna call?” Taylor smiled again. He was always smiling. “I dunno. I feel like this is my job or something,” I said. “I don’t know how long I’ll keep it up, but I just feel compelled to do it and then there’s what happened to Landon.” “You still feel guilty about that.” It was a statement, not a question. “Yes, I do. I could’ve stepped right in and saved him from getting beaten. All I had to do was say “stop” and those boys would’ve done so. With one word I could’ve stopped it, but I didn’t and Landon ended up dead.” “All things happen for a reason,” said Taylor. “Yeah, and Landon’s reason for shooting Greg and committing suicide was that he couldn’t take it anymore. Guys like Greg were on his ass too much, and guys like me put him down or ignored him.”

Mark A. Roeder

141

“There was another reason—to make you into what you are.” He gazed at me with those piecing blue-green eyes. His eyes were beautiful, and I felt like he could peer right into my soul. “You’re trying to tell me Landon killed himself so that I’d take up for queers?” “Exactly.” “But that’s…it’s…I dunno.” “There’s yet another reason you haven’t named,” said Taylor. “There’s another reason why you feel compelled to help these boys.” “And that is?” “You’re one of them.” The world stopped dead cold. It just halted, the whole damn thing. I don’t know how long I sat there not moving. I wasn’t even sure I was breathing. “Huh?” I said, after the longest pause ever. “Come again? I’m one of them? What are they? They’re boys…they’re…” “Gay,” said Taylor. I knew it before he said it. I knew it the moment he said, “You’re one of them.” I was so dumbfounded, however, I couldn’t believe it. “Gay? Dude, I’m not gay! Okay, I don’t date, but who has the time? I get up, I get ready, I go to school, I go to wrestling practice, I go to work, I work out, I study, I play Batman and then I go to sleep and then start the whole damn thing over again the next morning. So what? That doesn’t make me queer!” “Why are you so defensive?” asked Taylor with ultimate calmness. “Are you that afraid of it?” “You don’t understand! Do you have any idea what it’s like for them? These boys I’ve been saving—they’re outcasts! They’re shunned, ostracized, the butt of every joke. They’re punching bags for straight boys! Of course I’m afraid of it! Who in their right mind wouldn’t be?” “You must realize that you wouldn’t be so very afraid if what I’ve said wasn’t true. Why fear it so much if you aren’t gay yourself?” “But I can’t be gay! Look at me,” I said. I stripped off my shirt and flexed my muscles, making my chest, shoulders and biceps bulge. It was cold and goosebumps covered my skin, but I had to make my point. I pulled my shirt back on quickly. “Don’t you yet understand why you are the way you are?” asked Taylor. I looked at him, uncomprehending. He continued, “All your life you’ve been running from yourself. All your life you’ve been hiding. Your body, your involvement in sports, the fights you’ve picked, the clothes you wear, your obsession with being manly—all of it is an effort to hide your true nature from yourself.”

Mark A. Roeder

142

“No,” I said, shaking my head, “that’s not true! I love working out! I love football! Yeah, I want to be a man, but what has that got to do with anything? Is it wrong to want to be tough, to want to be strong and powerful?” “It’s not wrong, but there is a reason for it—two reasons really—the one I’ve revealed to you, and another.” “And what is the other?” “You’ve been preparing yourself for what you now do. You have the strength to save others because you’ve worked so very hard. You were driven to do what you’ve done in preparation for this time. Even your love of comic-book heroes is a part of this,” he said with a slight grin. How in the hell did he know I was into comic-book heroes? Was it because I’d mentioned Batman? Come to think of it, how the fuck did he know about Landon? Then again, that was no secret, so maybe he’d just heard. “Even if all this is true, why would God or the universe or who or whatever make me gay?” I asked. “Wouldn’t that be a cruel joke? To expect me to take up for queers and punish me for it by making me just like them?” “It’s not a punishment. It’s a necessary part of what you are. You feel for them so keenly because you know in your heart you’re one of them. You were made the way you are and were made to feel as you do so that you could perform this task. “The picture is not so dark as you’ve painted it. You are seeing only the glass half empty. There is much joy in the lives of these boys you’ve saved, if only you had the eyes to see it. You fear life too much. You fear being gay so much you can’t see the good in it; you can’t see the joy. You can’t see that sexual orientation is only one small part of who and what you are—just one part of so many. You can’t see it is a gift.” “A gift? You’re insane!” “Oh, if I only had time to tell you. It is a gift, in so many ways.” “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I said. “What do you know of it anyway?” “Much more than you know.” “So you’re telling me you’re gay?” “Yes, as you understand it.” “What does that mean?” “That’s as much as you can comprehend at this time.” “Ah! Why do you keep saying stuff like that? You drive me crazy!” “I say ‘stuff like that’ because I must and because it’s true, but our time together is at its end. You have a task to perform.” “Oh, do I?”

Mark A. Roeder

143

“Yes, there is a boy hiding in the graveyard who needs your help.” “And if I choose not to help him?” “He will die.” This is unreal, I thought to myself. “Why don’t you go help him! You’re always telling me what to do! Why the hell don’t you help him yourself and leave me out of it!” I shouted, trembling. “I am helping him, through you.” “You’re pissing me off is what you’re doing! First, you come and say I’m queer and then you want me to go and save some boy? Fuck that! I’m not doing it this time! Either you go do it, or find someone else. I quit!” “If you don’t, no one else will.” “So if I don’t do it, you’re not going to lift a finger? You’re just gonna go off to wherever it is you go and let him die when you know it’s going to happen?” “That’s right.” “But how can you?” “I don’t have to worry about him, because I know you will go.” “How can you know that? How the fuck can you know what’s going to happen?” “Because the boy hiding in the graveyard is your friend Oliver.” I felt my blood run cold. Oliver? “Is someone about to hurt him?” I said, standing. “No, but he will hurt himself if you do not stop him.” “Oliver? No, he wouldn’t do that!” “He’s the butt of every joke, remember? He’s an outcast. Do you not recall your own words? While you have viewed only the dark side and not the light, the dark side does exist, and it is on the verge of dragging Oliver down. If you do not intervene, he will be dead by the time the sun rises tomorrow.” “Okay,” I said. “I’ll go. I’m going now. I…” He was gone again. “Damn it! Stop doing that!” I yelled. I gave it no more thought, but ran for my car and drove toward the cemetery on the edge of town. I debated and then put on my mask. I was not yet ready to reveal my identity, even to Oliver. I feared he might recognize me anyway. Always before I’d appeared out of the darkness, but now it was only evening and the comforting cloak of night had not come, even though the shadows were deepening. I parked the Skyemobile (catchy name huh?) and walked through the iron gates of the cemetery. The moss covered gravestones were casting creepy shadows

Mark A. Roeder

144

on the un-mown grass, but I was unafraid. Ghosts threw no punches, as least as far as I knew. I walked deep into the graveyard, passing one mausoleum after another. Darkness was coming on quickly. Oliver must’ve been in a bad way if he was here on the verge of night. He’d always struck me as a frightened person. A graveyard at night was the last place I’d have expected to find him. I walked right to him, even though he was hidden in shadows seated on a weathered stone bench, making not a sound. I could sense him even though I could neither see nor hear him. He was startled by my approach. “It’s you,” he said. Even in the dimming light, I could tell he’d been crying. Taylor was right. Oliver was here and he was in pain. I did not stop to question just then how Taylor knew these things. “Will you speak to me?” asked Oliver. My silence was a shield against exposure, but how could I help him without speaking? He needed me and I had to be brave for him, just as I was brave when I attacked those who meant boys like him harm. “I will speak,” I said, wondering if he’d recognize my voice. He didn’t. I felt as if some power prevented it. From where did such feelings come? They came to me more often now and they were never wrong. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I feel so alone. Today just…I dunno…I just feel so bad I wanna die. I always have problems, but it’s like they’ve just magnified beyond belief.” “I’m here, tell me what’s wrong.” “I’m so tired of it all,” said Oliver. “It’s worse every day. It’s like I’m carrying this weight, and every day someone piles more on—the guys at school, my dad, TV, even my mom.” “TV?” “Yeah, it’s always pushing stuff at me. Telling me I’m supposed to look a certain way and dress a certain way if I’m to matter. I don’t care about that stuff, but it’s like…it’s like I don’t matter because I don’t follow along with the crowd.” “Maybe you’re just original; instead of blindly following some trend, you set your own course.” Was I learning something from my own words? I felt as if I might be. Wasn’t I one of those who followed blindly? Wasn’t I someone who thought he had to be wearing something that had Abercrombie & Fitch on it somewhere or he’d just die? “Well, originality makes it easier for people to make fun of you, but that doesn’t make it wrong and doesn’t mean you should give it up.”

Mark A. Roeder

145

He nodded, sniffling. “What do the boys at school do?” “You know. You saw the worst of it, but you know. They call me names— queer, cocksucker, faggot—and then there’s the cute little rhymes Oliver Twist, he’s too sissy to make a fist. I’m sick of it. Every day they just keep at it, more and more and nobody cares.” “I care,” I said. “My parents don’t. You should hear my dad: Why aren’t you involved in sports? Don’t be a wimp. Don’t be a momma’s boy. Why do you spend so much time combing your hair? Having you for a son is like having a daughter. And my mom, she’s always talking about how she wants grandchildren. She’s always telling me how someday I’m gonna find a nice girl and settle down and have a family. I’m fourteen and she’s talking about me having a family! I don’t want the pressure and I don’t want a girl! Maybe I will settle down, but it’s gonna be with a boy! There aren’t gonna be any grandchildren unless we adopt or have some kind of surrogate mother thing going on or whatever. Sometimes, I feel like just screaming: I’m gay, Mom, okay? There isn’t going to be a wife, and there won’t be any fucking grandchildren!” “So why don’t you tell her that, without yelling.” “Tell my parents I’m queer? No way, man. They’d disown me or beat me or sell me to the circus or something. I dunno.” “Okay, maybe you don’t want to tell them until you’re sure it’s safe, but don’t let them get to you. Your mom is just saying those things because that’s what she expects. She doesn’t know you’re gay, so she just assumes you’re going to get married someday. She’s not trying to hurt you, and it doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you.” “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m just so sick of her assuming I’m straight. I’m just tired of dealing with it all. I want to end it.” That’s when I noticed the pills in his hand, a whole bottle of pills. I didn’t know what they were, but there looked like plenty to do him in. “You can’t end it, Oliver. You have too much life ahead of you, too many things to do and places to see.” “Well, I don’t want my life if it’s gonna be like this.” “Oliver, you’re usually pretty happy; you know you are. Right now, you’re upset. You’re tired and you’re upset and you’re seeing only the negative side of things. You’re not thinking about all that’s good in life, and there is good stuff, Oliver, even if you can’t see it now. It’s like that for everyone sometimes and not

Mark A. Roeder

146

just if you’re gay. You’ve got to go beyond this and get to the good stuff. The glass isn’t half empty, Oliver. It’s half full.” Oliver started crying. He reached for me and I wrapped my arms around him. I held him and let him cry. I sensed that’s what he needed just then—to be held, to be made to feel safe—so that’s what I gave him—a haven. Helping others wasn’t all about kicking ass. Sometimes it was way more simple than that. I was learning that for myself as I held that frightened little boy. “I don’t have anything to live for,” he said, sobbing. “I’ve screwed everything up.” “You have much to live for. What makes you think you’ve messed things up?” “There’s this boy I liked…like, well, two of them really. I was doing things with both of them, just as friends, you know? Things were going a little beyond being friends with Ken. He even kissed me on the cheek. I was so happy I thought I could fly, but then I told him about Clay. I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong, but he got so angry. I guess I should’ve been more up front with him, but I was still deciding how I felt about him and Clay. I was still trying to figure out where I stood with them. Anyway, Ken hates me now.” “Maybe you can talk to him and explain.” “I don’t even know where to find him! He wasn’t in a listening mood any way.” “Well, maybe he’ll cool off. Maybe he’s just jealous.” “I don’t know. I just feel like I’ve ruined everything. I even went home and pigged out and I was doing so well losing weight. Now I’ve blown than too.” I had to keep myself from telling Oliver he hadn’t blown his eating plan—that things like this happened. I’d have to save that talk for later, however, or risk revealing my identity. I was amazed he didn’t recognize me, but then I didn’t sound like myself when I spoke to him. “You’ve hit a rough patch. We all do. That’s all. Maybe you can patch things up with this Ken, maybe not. But either way, life goes on and you’ve just got to make the best of it.” “I dunno. Things had been going a whole lot better for me. It’s just…it builds up, you know? All the name calling and all that crap—it just builds up and up. And I guess I’m scared. I’ve lost Ken, and what if it turns out Clay doesn’t like me? I’ll be all alone again.” “You can’t worry about all the ‘what ifs’ in life, Oliver.” “Yeah, I guess, but it’s just scary being alone, you know?” “It sounds to me like you’ve got a lot to be happy about. Listen, we all get depressed. Sometimes I do for no reason at all. Everything will be cool and then

Mark A. Roeder

147

it’s like…like unhappiness falls on me like rain. The trick is to know it’s just temporary. It’ll pass. Now I know you have reason to be upset, but don’t think your whole life is ruined just because things didn’t work out with Ken. That’s just one small part of your life.” “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Oliver looked at the pills in his hand. “I really felt like doing it,” he said. “I don’t know if I would’ve, but I felt like it. Now, just after talking to you for a little bit, I feel better, and I feel stupid for even considering what I was considering.” “Just remember if you ever feel that down again. That’s not the answer,” I said, pointing to the pills. “It never is.” “You know what the scariest thing is?” asked Oliver. “What?” “I know it’s not the answer. I know better. I’ve been reading all this stuff to help gay boys when they call the hotline, and I know I shouldn’t even have considered the pills. But it was like you said, like unhappiness falling like rain. I felt like I’d never be happy again, like there was no chance.” “You’re just upset and stressed out, Oliver. Like you said, a lot of little things have built up and then you had your problem with Ken. My guess is you’ve been bottling things up inside yourself. You can’t do that or something like this happens. When you got upset about Ken, it all came out.” “Yeah, you’re right. I guess I’ve got a lot more to talk about during the meetings than I thought.” Oliver quieted down. “Listen, Oliver. I think the best thing for you to do now is to go home and go to bed. Just go to sleep and when you wake up, tomorrow will be another day. When you wake up, try to think about the good things in your life. Try to find things to enjoy—like your friendship with Clay. Maybe things will still work out for you there. Make things as fun and pleasant for yourself as you can. Stop dwelling on what’s wrong in your life and think instead about what’s right. Pull yourself up by the seat of your pants and get back to it. I know you can’t just forget your troubles. I know you’ll be unhappy at times, but that’s life. What you’ve got to do is look for the good in life and remember that when others put you down for being what you are, they’re just plain wrong. I know you’re unhappy about Ken, but you can’t let disappointment take all the joy out of your life.” Oliver gave me another hug. “Now, why don’t I walk you home?” He nodded and stood. I let him lead me out of the graveyard. “You know everyone is talking about you,” he said as we strolled along.

Mark A. Roeder

148

“Are they? Well, there isn’t much excitement in Verona, is there?” Oliver giggled; it was a good to hear it. “I guess not, but the guys who are bullies…some of ’em are getting afraid. There’s this one boy in my class who used to whisper ‘faggot’ to me every time he passed, but he stopped doing it, and I think it’s because he thinks that you’ll hear somehow and come and kick his ass.” I laughed. “Maybe I will.” “So like…how do you always manage to show up when someone’s in trouble?” “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” I said. Oh great, now I’m starting to sound like Taylor, I thought to myself. “Okay, I guess I understand.” He gazed at me. “Can you tell what I’m thinking now?” “Right now, you’re wondering who I am and if I’ll take off my mask for you.” “That’s amazing!” “Actually, it was a guess. You were staring at my mask.” “Oh,” said Oliver and laughed. “So I guess you won’t take it off?” “I think it’s best if I don’t.” “That’s okay, I guess. It’s kinda cool not to know who you are, although I’d like knowing better than not knowing. This is my house.” We hadn’t come far from the cemetery. I was glad I didn’t have to walk under too many street lights wearing my mask. This was real life and I didn’t want to freak anyone out. “Thanks for everything,” said Oliver. “Thank me by taking care of yourself,” I said. “Thank me by trying to be happy. You have much to be happy about.” “I’ll try. You try and be happy, too.” “It’s a deal.” I stood and watched until he was swallowed by the warm light coming from inside, then turned and walked back to my car, slipping off my mask in the darkness.

Oliver

I’m so unstable, I thought to myself as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. It was only the night before when my masked savior had brought me home from the graveyard. Lying in my comfy bed in the early morning light, I couldn’t even touch the feelings I’d experienced alone in the cemetery. I’d had spells of depression before, but this one had definitely been the worst. What was I thinking— actually taking a bottle of pills to the graveyard? It was crazy, just plain crazy. Maybe I was crazy, but I wasn’t going to worry about that. If I was, then maybe nothing mattered anyway. No, I was going to do what the guy in the mask said: I was going to pull myself up by the seat of the pants and go on. What else was there to do anyway? Give up? My fit of depression was over. Giving up was not an option. Maybe I had ruined things with Ken, but as Captain Kirk often said, there are always possibilities. Or was that Mr. Spock? Anyway, I smiled, thinking of Kirk made me think of Clay. In the bright morning light things seemed a lot more hopeful where Clay was concerned. Even if we ended up being friends and nothing more, it would be a wonderful thing. Now why couldn’t I remember that when I was crying alone in the cemetery? It was like I wasn’t even me. It was a frightening experience. I was glad I didn’t get depressed too often and even more glad I’d never before experienced the feelings I did in the cemetery. I hoped I never would again. I got up and stretched. My stomach rumbled. How could I possibly be hungry after eating everything I did last night? When I thought of all the junk food I’d scarfed down I really did want to kill myself. There was no use crying about it. When it came time to weigh in, I’d just have to take my medicine. I wasn’t going - 149 -

Mark A. Roeder

150

to quit. Like Skye told me, I’d succeed as long as I kept on going. I’d stumbled and no doubt gained back a bit of the weight I’d lost, but that was life. Skye even said there would be times like that. I’d just have to do a good job the rest of the week as damage control and then go on from there. I wasn’t willing to give up on my slim body just yet! That decision made me feel a good deal better. It was the beginning of picking up the pieces and getting on with my life. I’d overreacted. I knew that now. I’d never been too good with disappointment. I’d never been dumped before either. It hurt to have my hopes crushed, but I could either lie down and die or keep going. I was gonna keep going. I felt free as I got up and made my way to the shower. I didn’t know if I’d really have killed myself if the masked man hadn’t come along, but if I would’ve, my life would have been over. Since I didn’t, it was like getting to start all over again. I kind of liked that idea—that I could remake myself. Of course, I didn’t need to get all bent out of shape to do that, but I think I finally understood the saying I’d heard somewhere: Today is the first day of the rest of your life. It meant the past didn’t matter, you could remake yourself every day. At least, that’s what I took it to mean. That’s what I wanted it to mean. I’d tell you about my day at school, but why should you suffer along with me? Okay, it wasn’t that bad, it was just…school. Older people—my parents, aunts and uncles, and others—were always telling me how I should enjoy being young, how school is the best time of life and all that. I guess I do enjoy being young, because I try to enjoy everything I can. It helps make up for all the unpleasant stuff. I think all those older people have forgotten what it was like when they were my age. I have a feeling they remember all the good stuff and have conveniently forgotten the bad. They don’t seem to remember not being able to find the answers to worksheet questions anywhere in the book. They don’t remember being afraid to go in the bathroom because the bullies might be in there smoking. They don’t remember being bored out of their minds in classes that are supposed to last 45 or 50 minutes, but seem to go on forever. They don’t remember getting shoved into their lockers by jerks, or getting called names. Maybe their school experiences were different from mine, but if this is the best time of my life I don’t even wanna think about what it’s going to be like when I get older. Okay, I’ve probably made it sound like I hate school and my life. I don’t. There’s a lot of unpleasant crap in it, but there is a lot of good too. I’m just saying that older people should try to remember that being young isn’t all fun and games. I think they’d be a little more sympathetic if they could remember that.

Mark A. Roeder

151

During my after-school hike, who should I meet, but Ken? He was almost on top of me before I saw him. I was busy watching my sneakers as I walked when I looked up and saw him coming. My first instinct was to run. I guess it was triggered by memories of what those jerks had done to me Halloween. I didn’t have any reason to feel like that with Ken, however. He was very angry with me when I told him about Clay, but I had no need to fear him hitting me or anything like that. Still, I was kind of scared, mainly because I don’t like confrontations. Ken didn’t look particularly upset as he stopped not two paces away from me. I still wished I wasn’t there. It was probably best to get whatever was going to happen out of the way. Better now than later. At least this way I wouldn’t have to worry about it. “Hey,” said Ken. “Hey.” We stood there awkwardly for a few moments. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, as if it were a necessary task. “About yesterday…” said Ken. “I…overreacted. I fly off the handle sometimes when I get upset. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” He’s sorry? His fit threw me into a fit of depression and he’s sorry? Anger flushed my cheeks, but then Ken smiled. Why did he have to be so damn cute? I felt my anger flowing away, even as I fought to maintain it. “I didn’t cheat on you,” I said. “We never said we were dating. I hoped we would, but we never talked about it.” “Okay, well. We should’ve. I didn’t know you’d be seeing someone else. I guess I can forgive that. But, if we start dating, I don’t want you hanging around Clay. I don’t want you going places with him, or being friends with him.” “Why can’t I be friends with him? That’s all we are—friends. Nothing more than that has happened between us and I doubt it ever will.” “I’d be jealous if you hung out with him. You’ve got a decision to make, Oliver—him or me. You said yourself you don’t know if you and Clay will ever be more than friends. I’m willing to be your boyfriend. I can be a lot more fun than Clay. I promise you that. So you’ve got to pick. I’m offering you what you want right now, and Clay’s only a vague possibility, but it’s your decision.” I turned my head and stared at a big maple for a moment, its leaves fallen, its branches bare, the tips of the branches looking like fingers reaching into the winter sky. I looked back at Ken. I didn’t like being forced into such a decision, but what Ken said made some sense. It’s like that saying, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, or whatever. Clay was just a possibility; he was a bird in the

Mark A. Roeder

152

bush, while Ken was the bird in my hand. Still, I really like Clay. How could I give him up? “I…I can’t make a decision like this all at once,” I said. “Can’t or won’t?” Ken paused. “Okay, I’ll give you some time, but not long. If you’re not interested, I’ve got to move on. There are plenty of other guys who would like to date me you know, but I’m giving you a chance because I like you and I think you’d make a cool boyfriend. You’re not going to find many sixteen-year olds willing to date someone who’s fourteen.” So that’s how old he is, I thought to myself. I’d never asked, but I’d wondered. “I’ll give you time to make your decision,” said Ken, “but I’ll leave you with something to think about.” Ken leaned in and kissed me right on the lips! In broad daylight! My head was spinning. I’d never been kissed before. It’s was like…well, I can’t describe it, but wow! Ken stepped back and grinned at me. “Let’s see if you can get that from Clay,” he said and walked away. Only then did I look around to see if anyone had seen us. There was no one in sight. It was going to be a tough decision, I knew that. I really liked Clay, as a friend and maybe more. Ken was right about one thing, though. He was willing to be my boyfriend and Clay was only a possibility—one that might well not work out. I guessed I could still see Clay during the meetings. Staying away from him like Ken wanted only meant not going out with him, like our trip to South Bend. I didn’t see where something like that could hurt. His mom was along after all, but if it bothered Ken, maybe it was something I could do without. Maybe I could even get Ken to loosen up about it after we’d grown closer. Maybe he wouldn’t be jealous then. It was kind of cool he was jealous. That meant he liked me and wanted me for himself. Being wanted was a good feeling. It was kind of like him saying, “I love you.” Ken had barely gone and I felt like I’d made my decision. I guess I was wrong about it being tough to decide. Ken’d kissed me. I wanted more of that. I wanted holding hands, hugging and walking in the moonlight. I guess that was worth giving up some time with Clay. I smiled. I was about to have a boyfriend for the first time in my life. It made my heart swell with happiness.

Skye

Taylor had given me much to think about, and there’d been no time for it since we’d spoken. Saving Oliver was far more important than wrestling with my own demons. I drove back to the park and sat alone in the moonlight. Two things stood out foremost in my mind. The biggie, of course, was Taylor’s announcement that I was gay. He’d stated it as fact, as if there were no question about it, no need for debate. His statement had angered me. I felt as if he were insulting me, although that was clearly not his intent. Could it be that what he said was true—that’d I’d been running from the truth all my life, that I’d worked so hard to be muscular and manly as some kind of denial? I wanted to deny the thoughts running through my mind, but a vision of Ben Tyler firmly implanted itself in my head. I’d long enjoyed giving Ben a rough time. I’d taken pleasure in making him afraid of me. I’d derived satisfaction from beating him up as I wore my mask. And, I’d gotten off on tackling him and lying on his muscular little body. I’d thought it was the lust of power, but was it just plain lust instead? Ben was cute. There was no denying that. Was I always so eager to jump on him because I wanted him? Was it some kind of suppressed desire? Could I really have remained ignorant of my sexual orientation for my entire life? Okay, I guess up until maybe twelve I didn’t give sex any thought. I knew it existed. I knew I had the equipment for it, although everything was very small— a fact which angered and worried me at the time. I was about twelve when things started getting bigger and I started sprouting hair in surprising places. That was

- 153 -

Mark A. Roeder

154

about the time I started working out. Was the timing a coincidence, or did it have meaning? Trying to think back to four years ago felt like attempting to peer 100,000 years into the past. My memories were vague or missing. How was it possible to actually forget entire years? I guess it happened to everyone, but it was kind of weird that whole sections of my life were lost, as far as remembering was concerned. Then again, that was kind of comforting, too. I didn’t know if I’d want to remember everything even if I could. Okay, Skye, get back on the topic, no wimping out. Okay, me, gay? I didn’t really want to face the possibility, but facing the truth was part of being a man. I’d worked damn hard to be a man, and even if I wasn’t quite there yet, I’d come a long way. My body was certainly there. Of that there was no doubt. I’d face this like a man, too. I guess me being gay made a bit of sense. Working out was my life in many ways—building muscle, comparing myself to other guys, admiring those who were strong. I had an appreciation for the male form—that was for certain. I kind of got off looking at myself in the mirror, so maybe you could say I was hot for myself, which by definition would be gay—I guess. Was I so intent on helping gay boys because I saw something of them in myself? Was it a case of “there but for the grace of God go I?” I was buff and tough, the Alpha male. No one dared insult me or give me shit. If they did, I put ’em down fast and hard. I enjoyed a safety and security that boys like Oliver didn’t have. I had no fear of getting worked over, even when I jumped on two, three, or four guys all at once. I had the strength and aggressiveness to handle it. I liked fighting. I didn’t even mind taking a punch. To be honest, I preferred fighting to not fighting. I had all this aggression inside of me that just had to go somewhere. Was that aggression sexual in nature? Was it created by unfulfilled desires? That was psychologist or psychiatrist stuff, not jock stuff, so I had no idea. I’d gone out with several girls, but nothing ever happened. It never seemed like there was time. I always had somewhere else to be. Was that just the way it was, or was it by design? I had no time for a steady girlfriend, but did I fill my life to overflowing just so I wouldn’t have the time—just so I’d have an excuse and not have to think about it? I made myself think about girls as I sat there in the cool night air. If I could stand up right now and go and find myself a truly hot girl, what would I want to do with her? Would I want sex? I could do it, that I knew—go and find a girl that is. Girls wanted me. I had a hot bod. There were girls who would do it with me

Mark A. Roeder

155

just because of that and that alone, so this wasn’t just a rhetorical or theoretical discussion or whatever. I could do it. I could stand right up and find a girl who would do whatever I wanted. I was sixteen, a raging mass of hormones, so why hadn’t I reached out and grabbed what was right there for the taking? Most guys would’ve, so why didn’t I? As I sat there, I knew I didn’t want sex with a girl. They were fine to hang with and make out with, but sex? The actual thought of sticking it in a girl wasn’t appealing. I admitted to myself that the thought of shoving my face between a girl’s legs, like some guys talked about doing, filled me with a sense of revulsion and even nausea. Why would anyone want to do that? What about the wet dreams, Skye? My thoughts halted. I’d thought the thought, the one that was forbidden. I had wet dreams fairly often. I even went out and bought an extra set of sheets for my bed that I kept hidden in the closet. I washed them secretly while my sister was gone so she wouldn’t see the evidence. I never allowed myself to think about my wet dreams, because they were about guys— Jimmy, Ben, other teammates, and even Coach. I guess my body and mind did at night what they weren’t allowed to do when I was conscious. On those rare occasions when I allowed myself to think about them, I told myself they were meaningless, just the weird shit of dreams. Maybe they weren’t so meaningless. Taylor seemed to know everything. How did he do that? I guess that didn’t matter. What mattered is that he was always right. Not once had he sent me on a fool’s errand. Not once had I followed his directions to find nothing. He usually gave me no details. He just said “go to Koontz Lake” or “go to the corner of Main and Oak” and I’d find someone in trouble there. If he was always right about these things, didn’t it follow that he was right about me? Okay, I needed a new topic. I needed to sleep on the whole idea of me being queer. My head would explode if I thought about it anymore. I needed to let my brain sort it out while I was unconscious. Besides, I wanted to think about something else Taylor had said—that I’d built myself up and worked hard to be strong so I’d be ready for what I was doing now. Could that be true? Was I destined to fill this role? Was even my love for Batman, Superman, and Spiderman a part of it? I had to admit, I got off on the whole idea of being a kind of superhero. Okay, so I wasn’t really a superhero. I didn’t have any special powers. I couldn’t fly or shoot webs out of my wrists or anything like that. Then again, Batman didn’t have superpowers either. He had toys that bordered on the unbelievable, but when all that was stripped away, he was just a guy that ran around in tights fight-

Mark A. Roeder

156

ing bad guys. Wasn’t that me, minus the tights? I’d look damn good in tights, though. Focus, Skye. Okay, I had to admit all my working out and fighting was the ideal preparation for going out and kicking butt to save gay boys. I’d always been a fighter. Like I already said, I liked it. All my life, I’d used any excuse to fight. Back down? Not me! I always brought out the fists, even in grade school. Hell, I got sent home more than once in the first grade for fighting—in later years, too. I’d made it to the top by being tough. No one fucked with me. I had the strength to kick ass and I liked doing it. That was why I was the Alpha male, the leader. The pack submitted to me because they all knew what would happen if they didn’t. I was the perfect choice for defending those who needed it, so maybe Taylor was right. Maybe I’d been groomed for my task from the beginning. That brought up a question: Where do I go from here? Was this to be my life? I couldn’t really imagine myself running around with a mask in my pocket for my entire life. That might work in comic books and movies, but not in real life, not forever. It was working for now, but could it go on? It wasn’t exactly a paying job either. I had too many thoughts running around inside my head. I needed to sleep. I stood, walked to my car and drove home. Once there, I stripped naked, climbed into bed and fell instantly asleep. ✶

✶

✶

✶

I was gay. Sometime during the night, my mind decided that for me. When I awakened, the reality was sitting there on the edge of my bed waiting on me. I didn’t feel any anger over my plight—no fear, no regret, no denial. It just…was. I wondered if it was a plight at all, for hadn’t I always been gay? I was no different than I was the day before, or the day before that or any other day. I stood and looked at myself naked in the mirrored doors of my closet. I flexed my muscles. I was better built than any other guy at school. I was defined and strong. I had more than the usual amount of manhood swinging between my legs. I was gay. Big fucking deal. I was amazed at my ability to accept this sudden change in my life, but then again it was no change. It was a realization, a discovery, an epiphany perhaps, but there was no alteration, except within my mind. I knew and accepted myself. I felt as if, at last, I had become a man. Maybe it was time to take off the mask.

Oliver

“You ready?” asked Sean as he slammed his locker shut. “Sure am,” I said. Nick was standing there waiting on us, looking particularly cute. I know I would’ve developed a crush on Nick if I hadn’t known early on he was taken. The fact he and Sean were dating kind of made it easier on me, though. I didn’t have to wonder about things like I did with Clay. I knew neither Sean nor Nick could be my boyfriend since they were already together. I didn’t have to wonder. I could just enjoy them as friends. Calling them friends might’ve been a bit premature. We were friendly, and Sean was taking me to explore more of Graymoor, but we hadn’t quite reached the point where I could say we were friends. I figured that the time would probably roll around, so I guess it didn’t matter. Maybe I should’ve been a little nervous walking out of the school with Sean and Nick. There were out and openly a couple. People might catch on that I was gay too if I was seen with them very much. I was beginning not to care about that too much, though. The only thing that worried me was the possibility of getting picked on, or even beat up. There were guys around who liked to pick on gay boys, or anyone different for that matter. I shyly watched Sean as he took Nick’s hand. I almost couldn’t believe they held hands in Verona. In some ways, though, I think Verona was more accepting than other small towns. Maybe it had something to do with Coach Brewer and Ethan and Nathan. I knew all about the gay stereotypes, and those guys ripped ’em up. I think maybe things were a little better for boys like me because those - 157 -

Mark A. Roeder

158

guys were visible. People could see they weren’t freaks. They were just guys like anyone else. That’s why it was probably a good idea for gay guys to be out—so people can see what we’re really like. We’re not all that different. We just like other guys instead of girls. I kind of wanted to talk to Sean and Nick about Ken and Clay, but I was kind of shy discussing such things. Actually, I’d never talked with anyone about something like that before, but then again, I’d never been in such a situation before. Still, it was something personal. Telling someone I’d kissed another boy was just kind of beyond me. I guess it shouldn’t have been with Sean and Nick because I know they’d kissed and had probably done things I hadn’t even thought about yet. They were sixteen after all. “So, does Graymoor freak you out, or are you cool with it?” asked Sean as we walked in the chill air. “I love it! It scares me a little, but it’s a good kind of being scared, you know? It’s all mysterious and filled with secrets.” “There’s no doubt it’s filled with secrets,” said Nick. “Yeah,” said Sean, “You know we haven’t even been in all the rooms yet?” “Your mom said something about that.” “A lot of the house is laid out kind of weird,” said Sean. “It’s almost as if whoever built it wanted it to be confusing.” “Who did build it?” I asked. “We’re not really sure. The Graymoor’s lived in it in the 1870s. At first, we thought it was built by them. Most of the house is what’s called Italianate, which would be about right. That style was popular as early as the 1850s, but was still going strong in the 1870s and 80s. There are Second Empire elements, too, like the tower. That style dates to the 1860s and later. Mom and Dad have found some earlier stuff too. Parts of the house are Federal, which can go back all the way to 1800, maybe even earlier. Dad thinks Graymoor is actually more than one house, or rather a house that had another house built around it. He’s an archaeologist, so he knows stuff like that. He thinks parts of the house are way earlier than the 1870s, while other parts are definitely from that time. We know none of it dates to after 1871, ’cause that’s when all the Graymoors were killed.” “So it’s true, about the murders?” “Oh yeah. It’s in the history books and everything. Mom even dug up an old newspaper account of it in the library. Maybe you’ll get a chance to see it while you’re there.” “The newspaper?” “The murders.”

Mark A. Roeder

159

“Huh?” “The murders replay sometimes. Marshall says it’s like a film of something that happened before, only three dimensional. He’s says that violent or traumatic acts sometimes permeate the location where they happened.” “Are you serious?” I asked. “Dead serious. Sorry for the pun.” Sean seemed to mean what he was saying, but I wasn’t sure. Maybe he was just jerking me around. “So are you a believer in that sort of thing, ghosts and all?” asked Sean. “Yes,” I said, almost in a whisper. “Well if you’re not, and you spend enough time in Graymoor, the house will change your mind.” I swallowed and felt the hair on the back of my neck rise, but Sean’s words only added to the mystery of the house. The house was coming into view, even though we were still quite some distance away. The leaves were gone, so the upper stories and tower were visible from blocks away. The old home looked inviting in the daylight, with the sun shining brightly upon it. I got mixed vibes from the house. I felt safe there in some ways, but not in others. There was happiness there, but I couldn’t help but think there was something evil lurking as well. I guess that was only natural with what until recently had been an old, abandoned house. I was sure glad Sean’s family had purchased it and were saving it from ruin. We entered through the front door into the huge parlor I remembered from the Halloween party. There was a huge Christmas tree set up there now, decorated with old ornaments. It seemed almost out of place in the spooky house, as if Christmas had invaded Halloween; yet, in another way, it seemed just right. It was beautiful and made me yearn for snow, which probably wouldn’t be long in coming if the temperatures were any indication. We stopped by the kitchen, where Sean offered me cookies, but I passed, telling him I was trying to lose weight. “Yeah? Me too. I’ve been doing pretty good.” “Cool,” I said. “I just started, but I’ve been doing well—mostly.” I thought of my binge, but put it quickly out of mind. I’d slipped, but I was back at it. “Yeah, Skye told me some stuff that’s really helped me out.” “Now there’s a hottie!” said Sean. I turned my head to look at Nick to see what he thought of his boyfriend thinking another boy was hot, but before I could do so, he said, “I wouldn’t mind seeing him naked.”

Mark A. Roeder

160

I grinned. I hadn’t actually thought of seeing Skye naked, but he sure looked good without a shirt. “He’s pretty cool. I work with him at Wahlberg’s, you know.” “He always seemed pretty stuck on himself,” said Nick. “Well, yeah, he kind of is, but he’s pretty cool. I might be a little stuck on myself if I looked like that. Luckily, I’ve escaped the curse of a muscular body.” “Hey!” said Sean, “I ducked that curse too!” He laughed. “You have a great body,” said Nick to Sean. I turned just a little red. “Let’s go to my room,” said Sean. I followed Sean and his boyfriend up the wide stairs. The mellow scent of polished wood was everywhere, and I detected another scent as well—vanilla? Graymoor had an old-house smell, which made perfect sense. It smelled of books, old wood, and other things I couldn’t identify, but it was a pleasant, homey smell. “This is it,” announced Sean after we’d climbed three flights of stairs and walked down a long hallway. “Cool,” I said, looking around, as Sean and Nick dumped their backpacks and jackets on the bed. There was an old single bed and matching dresser, as well as a wardrobe. The dresser had little sphinx faces on the pulls. I’d never seen anything like it. “This room looks like it’s always been this way,” I said. “It has, except for my stereo and a few others things I brought in. We didn’t even move the furniture. It’s exactly where it was in the 1870s.” “Wow.” “If you think that’s something, most of the beds in the house have the same sheets and blankets they did over a hundred years ago.” “It’s like…it’s like this house is still in the past,” I said. “In some ways it is.” “Let’s show him the basement,” said Sean, grinning at Nick, who smiled back. Sean leaned in and kissed Nick. I couldn’t help but watch. It was a long kiss and kind of excited me. It also gave me this warm feeling inside. They loved each other. I wanted that. I thought of Ken. I followed the guys down all three flights of stairs and then down a long hallway, past the dining room where the séance had been held on Halloween night. Sean picked up a large…um…candleholder with lots of candles on it. There’s a word for it, but I don’t know what it’s called. Anyway, he pulled a book of matches out of the drawer of a marble-top sideboard, lit one of the candles and

Mark A. Roeder

161

used it the light the others. He handled Nick and me smaller candleholders, which had three candles each. He lit those as well. “I take it there’s no electric light where we’re going,” I said. “Nope,” said Sean. “There’s none down below. Actually, a lot of the house hasn’t been wired yet. It’s too expensive, and we never go in most of the rooms anyway. Ready?” I nodded, feeling nervousness in the pit of my stomach. I was eager to uncover the secrets of Graymoor, but descending into a dark basement was more than a bit frightening. Wasn’t that where people always got killed in movies? The candles cast weird multiple shadows as we walked down the worn steps. It was as if heads surrounded us on all sides. Sean was in front, then me, and then Nick. I was glad to be in the middle. I felt a little safer that way, although I don’t know what it was I feared down there. “Brace yourself,” said Nick, as we neared the bottom. For what? I wondered. I followed Sean down the final steps and gasped. The candlelight revealed what could only be a sarcophagus. “There’s someone buried down here?” I asked, fear creeping into my voice. “Lots of someones,” said Sean. He walked toward one of the walls and I could see names carved in stone. My mouth gaped open. There were dozens of them. There was more than one sarcophagus, too. I wasn’t in a basement. I was in a crypt! “Don’t you find it kind of creepy knowing what’s down here?” I asked, shaking. I was terrified, but Sean’s basement was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. “Yeah, but compared to some of the other stuff in Graymoor, this isn’t all that creepy,” said Sean. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Doors that open and close by themselves; candles that light and go out without being touched; furniture that moves; paintings that aren’t always in the same place; disembodied voices; ghosts—both of people and animals; rooms that sometimes aren’t there when you try to go back to them, and lots more.” I gazed at him to see if he was jerking me around, but he seemed completely serious. I believed him. “Sometimes things touch you,” said Nick, “when no one is there.” “Like the butt-grabber ghost,” said Sean. “Butt-grabber ghost?” I asked. “Yeah,” said Nick. “Right when Sean and I started dating, we were going up the stairs to his room. I felt someone grab my butt. I thought it was Sean, but

Mark A. Roeder

162

when I turned around he was way too far behind me to have done it. I’ve felt it several times since then.” “Me too,” said Sean. “It seems to be some kind of mischievous ghost.” “Or one that just likes boys,” said Nick. “I think it’s Edward or Will goofing around,” said Sean. “I didn’t used to think they were here, but now I can feel them. Sometimes I feel a presence and their names will just come to me, like I somehow know who they are, as if my mind senses it.” “Edward or Will?” I asked. “The Graymoor boys who were murdered, along with their mother and little sister,” said Nick. “They were gay,” said Sean. “Gay ghosts?” “Well, they’re ghosts now. Once gay boys, now gay ghosts.” “How do you know they were gay?” “Journals, scenes replayed from the past, and we’ve seen them together.” “Wait a minute,” I said. “You said they were murdered with their mom and sister. They were brothers?” “Will was adopted,” said Sean, “so they weren’t actually related, but they were brothers.” This was getting far weirder than I’d ever imagined. What other secrets was Graymoor hiding?

Skye

I was actually eager for the opportunity to reveal myself. The shock value was intense. It was the ultimate challenge as well. When I took off my mask, they’d try to topple me. The Beta males would circle and attack. I envisioned the upcoming battle not with fear, but with delicious anticipation. Maybe they’d take me down; quite likely they would, but what a battle it would be! I needed to get myself a boyfriend too. That was near the top of my list. I was sixteen, and it was high time I started dating. Now that I knew what sex I wanted to date, I could pick someone. No more pussyfooting around. No more being too busy for a relationship. I’d make the time. Sean and Nick were about the only out boys at school, but there had to be other gay boys. Ten percent is what they said—that meant there were dozens around. When word got around about me, maybe others would reveal themselves, too. At the very least, maybe they’d approach me. I had plenty to offer. I caught my reflection in a window as I passed. I’d worn a white wife-beater to school and a pair of jeans. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking: Who’d wear a wife-beater when it’s cold out, but I wore a black leather jacket over it until I got to school. I’m not stupid, you know. My clothes were a deliberate attempt to emphasize my muscular body. Now more than ever, display was necessary. Maybe the Beta males would think twice before they attacked. I went about my day as usual, watching and waiting. My first step was a small one, not because I intended to start small, but rather because it was a small step that first presented itself. I was walking down the halls between first and second - 163 -

Mark A. Roeder

164

period when I heard, ‘You’re such a fag.’ I turned to see a freshman verbally abusing some eighth grader. I stepped toward them. “What did you call him?” I asked in an appropriately threatening tone. “I…I…uh. I didn’t. I mean to say…I…” “What did you call him?” I said louder. “A fag.” The little freshman was about to wet his pants. “Apologize. Now.” I didn’t raise my voice, I just spoke firmly. “I’m…I’m sorry, dude, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said to the eighth grader. He turned and looked at me to see if that was enough. “If I hear you calling someone that again, I’ll make you sorry. Understood?” He nodded quickly. He looked absolutely terrified. The eighth grader, on the other hand, looked both pleased and relieved. I walked away without another word. I felt proud of myself. The mask was off. My coming out went slowly. There was no reason to rush into it. I wanted to savor it. After all, hadn’t I been wearing a mask for sixteen years? I’m not talking about the cloth black one sitting in my dresser drawer. I’m talking about the mask that had never once come off before today. The next opportunity came just after I’d finished my lunch, a not-so-fine repast of a greasy corndog, sickly looking green beans and what was either tapioca pudding or mayonnaise. I went outside to get a little fresh air. It was too fucking cold out for just my wife-beater, but I’d left my leather jacket in my locker and was too lazy to go get it. Anyway, a couple of guys I knew from English, Travis Fleck and Anthony Gentry, were picking on some kid I didn’t know, and by picking on, I mean beating the shit outta him. It hadn’t gone on long and couldn’t have continued much longer because the teacher on duty, Mr. Ernst, was heading their way. I heard words like “fudge packer” and “queer” in the air. I walked up behind them, grabbed each of the guys from English by the shoulder and whipped them around so that they were facing me. “You will report to me, after school, on the football field. Got it?” They looked quite confused, but their eyes danced with fear. “3:15, no later. I’ve got wrestling practice at 4:00.” They both nodded. Mr. Ernst had arrived by then and escorted them off to the principal. I was sure they were a lot more afraid of me. I knew they’d spend the rest of the day living in fearful anticipation of what I was going to do to them. The kid they were picking on looked at me in awe. “Thanks, man. They were gonna kill me.” “I doubt that,” I said, “but you’re welcome.”

Mark A. Roeder

165

A little crowd had witnessed the event. I didn’t know whether or not the kid was gay, but he was being called queer, and I’d stood up for him. Word was sure to get around. Not a very dramatic scene, I know, but if you want drama, go read Shakespeare or one of those other fags. I’m just kidding about the fag part, but I am a fag, so I can say it all I want. Fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag. See? No harm. No foul. Don’t you say it, though, or I’ll kick your ass. I tried to give my mind a little rest by thinking about wrestling. I really liked the new coach, Mr. Selby. He wasn’t a teacher, but had agreed to coach for the season because the school couldn’t find anyone else suitable. I missed Coach Hogg, who had retired at the end of the last school year, but Coach Selby was far better. He really knew his stuff and held the record for the most wins in a season back in his day at V.H.S. He’d been teaching us some moves I’d never seen before. I missed football, but there was always next year, and it looked like I had quarterback all wrapped up. In the meantime, wrestling rocked! Pretty much all the same guys wrestled as played football, so I was with the same teammates. That was mostly good. I was on the lookout for more trouble, but it didn’t materialize. V.H.S. wasn’t exactly a violent school. It was just your average small-town high school in Indiana. I’d have liked to set some more punks straight, if you’ll pardon the pun, but it was better for violence not to happen at all than to have to be corrected by me. It hardly mattered, anyway, because the test was waiting on me when I reached the locker room—in the person of Ben Tyler, star of my wet dreams. But first, I need to back up just a bit to 3:15. I arrived on the football field to find Travis Fleck and Anthony Gentry waiting on me. They were both nervously looking around, obviously wishing they weren’t there, but too afraid not to be. It was damn cold out for a wife-beater, but I knew my muscles and the mere act of standing practically shirtless in the frigid December air would intimate Travis and Anthony. Sacrifices sometimes had to be made. “Now,” I said, folding my arms across my chest so that my forearms bulged, “let’s discuss your attitude.” Travis started to speak, but I silenced him by holding up a finger. “Let me explain. By discuss, I mean I talk and you listen, and then you do what I tell you to do. “If I catch you picking on a kid again, I’ll kick your ass. If I catch you calling anyone ‘fudge-packer’, ‘fag’, or anything like it, I’ll kick your ass. So…are you going to do as I say?”

Mark A. Roeder

166

“Dude, it’s not your business to…” began Anthony. He didn’t get to finish, because I decked him. “I’m making it my business. So, what will it be?” “I’ll do what you say,” said Travis very quickly. “Fine, you can go. Anthony?” “Okay, okay, I’ll do it…I mean I won’t do it…I mean I won’t pick on anyone and I won’t call anyone anything like ‘fag.’” “Then we’re done here,” I said. I turned my back on Anthony, giving him the opportunity to jump me if he wished (which he didn’t take advantage of, lucky for him) and left—which brings us back to Ben in the locker room. “Dude,” he said, “I heard you’ve been going around school going off on people for saying ‘fag’ and shit like that.” I peeled off my shirt and threw it in my locker before answering. “That’s right,” I said. “I just slugged Anthony Gentry in the face for it, or rather for taking too long to agree to stop saying it. You have a problem with that?” I folded my arms over my chest, just as I had on the football field. “Yeah, I do. Why are you taking up for fags all of a sudden? Are you one of them or something?” That got a lot of laughs in the locker room; that is, until I said “yes.” What followed was absolute silence for several seconds. “What?” asked Ben, incredulously. “You asked if I was one of them, a fag—I prefer the term ‘gay’ by the way— and if you say ‘fag’ again I’ll belt you, and I said ‘yes.’” Ben spoke very slowly while everyone looked on. “So…you’re saying…that you…are a fag?” My fist darted out and Ben’s head snapped back. I didn’t slug him as hard as I could because that would’ve broken his jaw, but hard enough the impact threw him back into the lockers. “I told you if you said ‘fag’ again I’d belt you. The same goes for everyone else. And yes, I am gay. What part of that don’t you understand? Is it ‘I’, ‘am’, or ‘gay’ that has you stumped, you stupid fucker?” All my teammates were gawking, except for Ben, who was pulling himself up and rubbing his cheek. “Fuck,” he said, “I can’t believe this!” Ben peered at me closely. He examined my eyes with his. Realization dawned on him. “You…you were the one who jumped me that night I was…” “Picking on that little kid? Yeah, that was me who kicked your ass, and I’ll gladly do it again.”

Mark A. Roeder

167

Ben caught on fast. I figured it would take him much longer to figure out I was the masked man. I guess he was able to put two and two together now that I’d given him the next piece of the puzzle. “You don’t scare me,” said Ben, looking me up and down. He was either brave or stupid. My money was on stupid. “Is that so?” “Dude, I saw you looking at me in the showers. Oh, my God! Guys, Skye’s hot for me!” Ben laughed. “You wanna fuck me, don’t you, Skye?” I stepped a little closer. He involuntarily backed away. “Ten, nine, eight, seven…” “What are you doing?” asked Ben, his voice shaking ever so slightly, although he was doing his best not to let his fear show. “I’m counting down. If you don’t apologize by the time I reach zero, I’m gonna kick your ass. I’m going to beat you so bad your momma is gonna feel it. Six, five…” “You’re bluffing.” “Try me. Four, three, two.” “Okay! Okay! I’m sorry, all right! I’m sorry! I was just messin’ with you, man.” I loved to watch him crack. Ben was eating his words so fast I feared he’d choke on them. Coach yelled at us all to get out on the mats, so that was it for then. I changed into my singlet quickly. When I walked out, I left a locker room full of shocked teammates behind me. I wondered which ones would try to stab me in the back. I caught Ben talking shit with Glen as I walked out into the gym. I grabbed Ben by the shoulder and jerked him around. “Come here,” I ordered and pulled him off to the side, out of earshot of the other guys who were heading for the mats. “I’m not putting up with your shit. You asked me in there if I want to fuck you. Well, guess what, Ben, I do. I have wet dreams about you Ben. I shoot a load every night while I dream about fucking you. And, if you don’t adjust your attitude real fast, I’m gonna fuck you. I’m going to get you alone, rip down your shorts and stick my dick right up your ass while I listen to you scream. I’m gonna make you my bitch. So you can either drop the shit or practice taking it up the ass, because those are your only two choices.” There was true terror in Ben’s eyes. “Okay, man…I…I…I’m sorry. Okay?” “Okay,” I said, slapping his butt. “I think we understand each other, so if you want to preserve your anal virginity, don’t step out of line.”

Mark A. Roeder

168

Ben’s face was absolutely white. Totally dominating that prejudiced fuck was nearly as good as sex. I still had the hots for him, but that was all. I’d had a real good look at his personality, and he was butt-ugly on the inside. I was glad he wasn’t gay. He didn’t deserve to be one of us. I’m sure you’re wondering if I meant what I said to Ben, about making him my bitch. To be honest, the idea appealed to me, but forcing someone like that is so wrong I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy—so no, I didn’t mean it. Ben didn’t know it was a bluff, however, so I was reasonably sure it would keep him in line, at least for a while.

Oliver

I couldn’t believe there was a cemetery in Sean’s basement. Well, I could believe it, because it was right there in front of me, but you know what I mean. It looked like all the Graymoors were there; at least there were lots of Graymoor names on the tombs. There were a few others, though. It was kind of hard to make things out by candlelight, but the letters were deeply carved and showed up in the shadows. “Hey, look at this. You seen this one?” I asked after I’d bent down near the floor to look at an inscription. “Died December 31, 1859.” “Lemme see,” said Sean. He examined the writing. “It says 1859 all right. That’s more than a decade before the last Graymoors died. Isaac Graymoor…never heard of him.” “Looks like more evidence that at least part of the house is older than you thought,” said Nick. “Although, I suppose this could’ve been some kind of underground crypt and then the house was built on top of it. Doesn’t seem likely, but you never know.” “Yeah. I agree,” said Sean. “You know, I never thought of checking the dates on the graves. Good thinking, Oliver.” “More of an accident, really,” I said. “Well, now we’ve found out something useful anyway. Everyone look around for other early dates.” We spread out and scanned the walls. It was kind of like a treasure hunt. I was having a ton of fun and I wasn’t even creeped out by the crypt, well not much anyway. - 169 -

Mark A. Roeder

170

“Whoa,” said Nick, “1834. That’s twenty-five years before Oliver’s.” “Got you beat,” said Sean, “1812. Damn, the Indians were still around here then! I thought there were only log cabins that far back.” “You said part of the house was…um…that old style that goes back to 1800 or so, right?” I asked. “Yeah, Federal,” said Sean. “Is that part of the house above us?” “Yeah.” “Then that part of the house could’ve been here in 1812, easy.” “You’re right! Are you descended from Sherlock Holmes?” “Yes I am,” I said. “Him and lots of other fictional characters.” Nick laughed. “Mom and Dad are going to love this,” said Sean. “Secrets within secrets,” said Nick, “and who knows where they will lead.” “Are you trying to be mysterious, Babe?” “No, it just…came to me.” We kept searching, but found no older dates. We did find a few more before the 1850s, but not many. Graymoor had always been a source of great mystery to the entire town, but most were too afraid to explore in search of answers. A part of the house had been there since at least 1812 and maybe before. That stuck me as especially odd. I was no expert in history as Sean seemed to be, but even I knew that most of northern Indiana wasn’t settled until the 1830s. Indiana wasn’t even a state in 1812. It was still truly the land of the Indians then. We took our news upstairs to Sean’s dad, who, I learned, was not often home. He looked a good deal like Sean, or I guess I should say Sean looked a good deal like him. His dad was leaner, however, and, of course, older. I’d never seen someone that old get so excited. You would’ve thought we’d found a bag of gold down in the crypt instead of just old dates on graves. His excitement was contagious, and I followed him with Sean and Nick in tow as he pointed out the Federal influences in the house. All of these were located up above the crypt. “If we removed the plaster from these walls, I’m sure we’d find the bricked up windows of the original house,” said Sean’s dad. “And Mom would have a cow,” said Sean. “Most definitely, so we won’t be doing that,” said Sean’s father. I was extremely pleased that I’d helped Sean’s family discover something about their house. If I hadn’t liked my own parents so well, I would’ve been hoping Sean’s would adopt me. I kind of wished for it anyway.

Mark A. Roeder

171

Sean took Nick and me back to his room. I wanted to ask them some gay questions, like what certain sexual things were like, but I was way too shy about those things. I was fairly ignorant, too, and I didn’t want them making fun of me. I didn’t think they would do that, but I was embarrassed. They might think I was getting too personal as well, although I wasn’t going to ask them about themselves specifically. I put it out of my mind for the time being. I had plenty of time to find out what I didn’t know. I sat on the edge of Sean’s bed. I loved being inside Graymoor. It was like another world—another dimension. I’d always been drawn to the old house, as if it were calling to me. I knew it held many secrets, but I felt as if, just maybe, it held some just for me.

Skye

Word got around about my alternative lifestyle real fast. Everyone was floored. People were gawking at me like I was a sideshow freak. I didn’t mind. It didn’t get to me. That’s where a good self-image comes in handy. Hell, this was one time that conceit was a valuable commodity. I didn’t give a flying fuck what anyone thought of me, at least as far as my sexual orientation was concerned. I’d accepted myself, so they could, too, or they could all go fuck themselves. My attitude saved me a heap of trouble. If I’d scurried around all meek and fearful, every punk and bully in school would’ve been out for my ass. I knew I was outnumbered and in real danger, but I wasn’t going to show fear. That didn’t make me brave because, truthfully, I wasn’t afraid. I knew I could and likely would get my ass kicked sooner or later, but I also knew that whoever tried it was going to get fucked up in the process. The first morning after the scene with Ben in the locker room, Kurt Schipp, one of the resident bad-asses of V.H.S., called me ‘faggot’ as I passed. I wasted no time in reacting. I’d learned as the Alpha male to stomp out resistance quickly. I turned, grabbed Kurt by the front of his shirt and slammed him back into the lockers, a bit too hard as it turned out. Kurt’s eyes rolled up in his head and he slid to the floor—the impact knocked him out. That earned me a trip to the principal’s office. I won’t bore you with all the details of what went down behind the closed door of the principal’s office, but the gist of it was that V.H.S. couldn’t condone violence, even if I was provoked. I explained the situation and hinted at legal action for being harassed and was released into the custody of Coach Brewer. - 172 -

Mark A. Roeder

173

Coach took me to his office where I accurately regaled him with the story of what had transpired between me and fuckhead. “Just between you and me, I’m delighted that you knocked Kurt out cold,” said Coach, “but you can’t be walking around doing that kind of thing.” I started to protest, but Coach held up his hand. “I’m actually quite impressed, but…you’re going to have to tone it down. You can’t go around knocking out or beating the crap out of everyone who calls you names. That’s going to get you in trouble. It’s not exactly the best way to handle things, either.” “For the record, Coach, I didn’t mean to knock Kurt out, although I’d be lying if I said I was sorry.” “That’s one of the dangers right there, Skye. You didn’t mean to knock him out, but you did. What if you end up killing someone? You’re a powerfully built young man, perhaps not completely aware of your own strength. Your body is a weapon. You could kill with it, so you’re going to have to use a little restraint.” “I’m not gonna let anyone talk shit to me,” I said, “and I’m not putting up with other guys getting picked on for being gay either.” “I’m not your enemy, Skye. I think you know that, but you need to use a bit of moderation.” “How?” “Okay,” he said, “let’s look at what you’ve got: You’re strong, tall, and intimidating. You can shut most people up just by glaring at them. Imply violence, but don’t commit violence. Use your presence to control the situation.” “I’ll do that, Coach, but some guys don’t learn.” “I’m sure you’re correct, but be careful, Skye. I don’t want to see you getting in trouble for standing up for what’s right. Use moderation, and fight without physical violence.” “Okay, Coach. I’ll do that as much as I can. I’m not saying I won’t beat the crap out of someone, but I’ll try what you said before I start punching.” Coach nodded. We understood one another. I knew he couldn’t say it was okay for me to hit anyone, but I also knew he was on my side. If he was my age and not the coach, he’d probably have been doing just what I was doing. “By the way, just what did you do to Ben? He looked like he’d seen a ghost when he came to practice yesterday.” “Oh, we just had a little talk, Coach. I didn’t hit him, except for once in the locker room. He kind of got shook up, because I said I’d do something to him if he didn’t shape up.” “I don’t think I’ll ask what that was.”

Mark A. Roeder

174

“You’re a smart man, Coach.” “I think we’re about done here then.” “Hey, Coach,” I said, just before I opened the door. “I’m lookin’ for a boyfriend. You know any cute guys?” Coach shook his head in disbelieve at my boldness. “I’m afraid you’ll have to take care of that one yourself,” he said grinning. “It’s too bad you’re attached, Coach.” “Don’t go there, Skye.” I laughed. “You know I’m kidding, Coach. See you later.” Was I kidding? Maybe not. Coach was much older than I was, but he was everything I admired in a man. It hardly mattered, because Coach was attached and there’s no way he could’ve dated a student, even if he wanted. Second period was just ending, so I headed for my locker to get my books for third. Avery ran up to me as I was digging through my locker. “Hey man, I hear you knocked out Kurt. Good job!” I laughed. “Hey, I want you to meet my cousin and his boyfriend,” said Avery. “I don’t think you’ve been introduced.” Sean and Nick were standing just behind Avery, looking me over. I knew them by sight. I’d seen them around school and I’d helped fight off the Badgers that attacked them, but I didn’t really know them. “Hey,” I said in greeting, nodding my head. “Hi, Skye,” said Sean. “Hey, man,” said Nick. “We were wondering if you wanted to hang out or something sometime. Just talk, you know?” asked Sean. “Since it’s now known I’m a member of the not-so-secret gay club?” “Yeah,” laughed Sean. “We’re glad to have you as a member. You’ll get your homo-card and certificate suitable for framing in the mail.” I laughed. Avery rolled his eyes. “Queers,” he said under his breath for us all to hear. It was obvious that it was no insult, however, merely a joke shared with friends. “Do I have to knock you out, too?” I asked Avery. “Um…no,” he said. “Actually, I’d like to talk to you guys,” I said to Sean and Nick. “This whole gay thing is kind of new to me.” Sean gave me a queer look, no pun intended. “When’s a good time?” asked Sean.

Mark A. Roeder

175

“I’m pretty busy, but let’s see…I’ve got wrestling practice, then work…um. Is 9 p.m. too late? We could meet at Ofarim’s maybe?” “Sounds good,” said Sean. “We’d better run. See ya tonight, Skye.” “You going to be there?” I asked Avery as Sean and Nick disappeared into the crowd. “Nah, I’ve got a date. Besides, I’m not a member.” “Aww, you didn’t get a card or certificate?” “It’s okay. I’ll live.” “Catch ya at wrestling practice, Avery.” “Later, man.” ✶

✶

✶

✶

I walked into the locker from before wrestling practice, curious as to what would happen. Things had gone pretty well all day long. I’d gotten a lot of looks from the curious and shocked, but no one gave me any shit. If I thought I heard something like “queer” said under the breath, I gave that person a withering glance to shut them up. After Kurt, no one dared to dis me to my face. I was sure there was plenty of talk going on behind my back, but I didn’t really care. I intended to meet trouble head on, but what people said in private conversation was their business, even if it was about me. I wasn’t going to go around school wearing a “Yeah, I’m gay, get over it” t-shirt or anything like that, but I also wasn’t going to do a damn thing to hide my homosexuality. As far as I was concerned, it was a part of me. It always had been, I just hadn’t known it. If someone didn’t like it, they could suck my nuts— especially if they were cute. Seriously, I didn’t care what anyone thought about me in any other way, so why should this be any different? I know you might not believe what I’ve just said, but it’s true. Yeah, I always wore just the right clothes and projected just the right image. I’ve always taken great pains to look good, but hey, I’ve worked like a maniac on my body, so why shouldn’t I? Anyway, back to the locker room. As I walked in, it didn’t seem any different. Ben looked at me fearfully, as if I might make good on my threat right then and there if he so much as looked at me cross-eyed, but everyone else was pretty normal acting. A few of the guys were probably acting as if all was cool because they were afraid of me, but I think most of them really just didn’t give a shit that I liked dick. It was the freaking ’90s after all, and it wasn’t that big of a deal anymore. Okay, I know I’m doing a bit of an about-face here. It wasn’t long ago at

Mark A. Roeder

176

all that I was hesitant to stand up for queers because I was afraid someone might think I was one. And, the reason for that was the way gays were treated. But, the thing is, when I realized I was queer, I had too much pride to hide it, and let’s face it, it was a lot easier for me to be queer than someone like Oliver. I was strong and could kick ass, so that cut down on the bullshit considerably. I glanced down at Glen’s stuff and he noticed. He looked like he was going to say something about it, but I cut him off. “Don’t freak out, Glen, it was just somewhere to put my eyes. I’ve seen your stuff so many times I feel like a freaking doctor.” I shut my locker and left for the gym, as if it were nothing, which it was. I was finding that if I didn’t make a big deal out of things, no one else did either. I think what really helped me with the guys is that they knew me. I’d been gay the whole time we’d been on teams together, which in most cases was years. I’d been naked with them in the locker room and in showers. I’d shared beds with them on distant away games. I’d slept over at some of their homes and vice versa. Not once in all that time had I groped, fondled, molested, propositioned, stared at, or in any way, shape or form tried to initiate any kind of sexual contact. If I hadn’t done it in all that time, I wasn’t likely to start now. Since I didn’t know I was gay, I’d never given sex with my teammates much thought. Sure, a lot of ’em were hot, but I just thought I was measuring myself up against them when I noticed things like how big their biceps were, or how muscular were their chests, or how much they had swinging between their legs—I didn’t know it meant anything. The single exception, and I was only now realizing it, was Ben. In hindsight, I realized I’d always had a thing for Ben. That’s why I took such delight in dominating him. That’s why I was so quick to tackle him and feel his hard body under me. It was a hell of a lot of fun wrestling him, too. Ben was cute, no doubt about it—at least physically. His personality left much to be desired, as I’d recently learned, but on the outside, he was fine. If he was gay or bi and wasn’t such a cock, I would’ve been real interested in Ben. He was a dick, though, so that was going nowhere. Things weren’t all perfect between me and the guys, but hell, they never had been. I was surprised that things weren’t more difficult, and I knew there would be difficulties ahead, but things were sailing pretty smoothly for the time being. I’d expected an immediate attack from some of the Beta males when they found out I was queer, but my reputation and sheer physical strength were keeping them at bay, at least for the moment. People were figuring out I was ‘the masked man’ as well, and as he’d become something of a heroic figure, guys were afraid to mess with me. Stories about the exploits of ‘the masked man’ had gotten

Mark A. Roeder

177

exaggerated, naturally, so I was credited with much more than I’d actually done. Yeah, I’d kicked some ass, but legend far exceeded my actual accomplishments. That was okay. It was one of the things saving my ass. ✶

✶

✶

✶

“Skye, thanks,” said Oliver as soon as I walked into Wahlberg’s. He wrapped his arms around my middle and hugged me before I even knew what was going on. “Thanks for saving me—twice.” I smiled when Oliver released me. “I guess you’ve heard, huh?” “Who hasn’t?” I laughed. “Yeah, I’m surprised it’s not on the evening news.” “I really appreciate you saving me…on Halloween and just other night too. Those guys would’ve hurt me bad if you hadn’t stopped them and…in the cemetery, well…I would’ve taken all those pills if you hadn’t come along…maybe. You saved my life.” I didn’t know what to say. ‘It’s just part of the job’ didn’t sound quite right. So I just said, “You’re welcome.” “I can’t believe you’re gay,” said Oliver. “I just can’t believe it! You, of all people! Do you know what this means? The coolest, strongest, hottest boy in the whole school is one of us! I mean, dude, you rule V.H.S.” I grinned and laughed. “I’m serious!” “I wouldn’t go quite that far,” I said, “although I will admit I have a substantial amount of power.” “Well, whatever you want to call it…people are looking at you now and they’re thinking Skye is gay so it must be okay.” “I’m not so sure about that.” “Well, a lot of them are thinking that, maybe most. I just never dreamed you were gay. When you saved me, I thought and thought about who might be behind that mask. He was obviously very strong, but I never even suspected it was you. It was just too out of character. I mean…you were always kind of…well, just concerned with your own popularity and how you looked. I didn’t think you cared about anyone else.” Ouch. Maybe I’d been a bigger dick than I’d thought. “Well, if anyone gives you trouble now, you just tell ’em we’re friends and I’ll beat ’em senseless if they so much as look at you funny.”

Mark A. Roeder

178

“We’re friends?” “Yeah. I think of you as a friend. I know we don’t hang out together or anything, but we work together, you’re cool in an offbeat sort of way, and now we share this gay thing, so yeah.” Oliver smiled. “Wow. I never thought we’d be friends.” Oliver and I kept talking. He’d finally remembered to bring the “Ages of Empire” disk he’d told me about and we discussed the game for a while. I told him about my comic-book collection. Oliver didn’t know it, but I’d never told anyone about it. It didn’t seem like that big of a secret compared to what the whole school was now talking about. Skye is gay. Skye reads superhero comic books. You decide which is more shocking. I had more fun in Wahlberg’s than I’d had in a long time.

Oliver

“Come to the meeting with me,” I said. “What’s the point of those meetings when we have each other?” asked Ken. I grinned. “Everyone’s cool there. I like being able to talk about things with others who understand.” “That’s what I’m for. You can talk to me about anything. You don’t need the others.” “But…” Ken pulled me to him and kissed me. “You won’t get anything like that at the meetings,” he said. “I guess we can skip the one tonight if you don’t want to go…” “I don’t want to go to any of them. I don’t want you to go, either.” “Why?” “Because he will be there, won’t he?” “I suppose he will be. He’s been at all of them.” “I don’t want you around Clay.” “Why do you dislike him so?” “I’m trying to protect you, Oliver, okay?” “Protect me?” “Clay’s not the sweet boy you think.” “What do you mean?” “You don’t want to know. Just trust me.” “Tell me!”

- 179 -

Mark A. Roeder

180

“Clay’s a slut, Oliver. You know what that means? He does every guy he can get his hands on. He’ll use you and throw you away, and I don’t want that to happen to you. You’re too innocent. He’ll take advantage of that. And, on top of everything, who knows what diseases he’s carrying around?” “Clay? He’s not like that, Ken. He hasn’t so much as tried to kiss me.” “That’s how he plays it, Oliver—sweet and innocent—but, believe me, he’s anything but.” My mind was reeling. “That’s…hard to believe,” I said slowly. “Of course it is. That’s what makes him so dangerous.” “You’re sure about this?” “Oh, I’m sure,” said Ken, his eyes getting watery. “Ken? Ken?” “Let’s just…not talk about it, okay?” “He did something to you?” “It was a long time ago, Oliver—months. I…don’t want to talk about it. I just want to make sure the same thing doesn’t happen to you.” “Thank you,” I said quietly. I would’ve never believed Clay was capable of hurting a fly, but Ken was sure upset about something. He was on the verge of tears. Clay must’ve hurt him bad for it to upset him so much after all this time. Maybe I’d made a wiser decision in picking Ken over Clay than I’d thought. “I guess now I know why he was so friendly,” I said, “even though I look like this.” My lower lip trembled slightly. I couldn’t bear to think that the object of my crush had been using me—and he’d seemed so nice. I guess he really was too good to be true. “Hey, Oliver, don’t be down on yourself. You’ve got a lot to offer. Otherwise, why would I be here? Don’t let that creep get to you. That’s his game. I’m just glad I was able to come along and save you from the worst of it.” “What do I do if he comes up to me or something?” I asked. “You won’t be seeing him, but if your paths cross, just tell him you’re dating someone. Don’t say who. If he finds out it’s me, he’ll get nasty. Just let him know you’re taken and he’ll back off.” “If he’s a…if he’s like you say he is, won’t he still try to get me?” “No, that’s not how he plays his little game. He’s smarter than that. He’ll bide his time. He’ll wait for you to break up with me, then he’ll play the friend again, get in close and then rip you to pieces.” “I never even suspected,” I said, feeling naïve and ignorant.

Mark A. Roeder

181

“No one does until it’s too late,” said Ken. “You’re young; don’t feel foolish for not seeing through him. He’s used up older guys than you.” “Why has no one warned me about him, except for you?” “You mean those guys at the gay-youth meetings—Sean and Nick and all that crowd? Most of ’em don’t know, and anyone who does is probably too ashamed to admit it. You don’t know what he can do to you, Oliver.” Ken looked as if he was ready to bawl. I took his hand in mine and squeezed it. He hugged me and I wrapped my arms around him, comforting him. It filled me with contentment. Such closeness and love is what I’d wanted all my life. ✶

✶

✶

✶

I never had enough time with Ken. The only time I’d spent more than twenty minutes with him alone was in the movie theater. I supposed having a busy boyfriend was a lot better than not having one at all. Well, there was no doubt about it. I didn’t know how things would end up with Ken, of course, but I sure liked where they were going. I’d been a little suspicious of his jealousy over Clay, but then I found out it wasn’t jealousy, it was protectiveness. Ken was taking care of me. I liked that. I liked feeling loved and safe. I’d never felt that way before. Oh, I’d felt safe and loved with my parents, but this was a whole other kind of safety and love. Comparing my parents with Ken was like comparing apples and oranges. It was just…different. Was it just me, or was the world more beautiful? The leaves were gone and snow had not yet come, but there seemed to be beauty all around me. Is this what it was like to be in love? I wished I knew. There should’ve been how-to books on love or something and on dating in general. There were millions of books out there, but not one of them contained what I wanted to know. Believe me, I’d looked. I found books on love, but I could tell from their descriptions that they didn’t have what I needed in their pages. I needed a step-by-step how-to guide on how to have a boyfriend. I had no idea how to act around Ken. I didn’t know what was appropriate and what wasn’t. I didn’t know what would make him like me more and what would make him like me less. I guess I was lucky to have an older boyfriend. He was so much wiser than I was. He’d saved me a pile of trouble with Clay. I’d sure been taken in.

Skye

I parked the Skyemobile in front of Ofarim’s and went inside. Sean and Nick were waiting on me. They were sitting in a booth, sharing a banana split. I decided to splurge on the calories and ordered myself a marshmallow milkshake. I sat down across from them. “So…” I said, not really knowing where to start. “So, um, what’s that you said about this whole gay thing being new to you?” asked Sean. “You mean you didn’t know you were gay?” A couple of guys from school were sitting nearby and could no doubt overhear us, but I didn’t care. Neither did Sean or Nick apparently. “No, I didn’t. I guess maybe I knew deep inside, but the thought never formed in my mind. I’ve gone out with girls. Nothing ever happened beyond making out and feeling up, and I guess I just never wondered why. I’ve always been way too busy for dating, so the fact I didn’t just wasn’t that big of a deal.” “But couldn’t you tell that guys turned you on?” asked Nick. “Well, all that was kind of confused for me. Now that I’ve realized I’m gay, I know I’m attracted to guys and have been for a long time. It’s obvious with hindsight, but it was anything but obvious before. I can look at a guy and think, hell yeah, I want him, but before it was more just sizing guys up, comparing them to myself. I’ve always noticed what other guys look like, how strong they are, how they’re built, how hung they are, but I thought I was just using them as a measuring stick—a way to judge my own progress. Wasn’t it like that for you before you knew?”

- 182 -

Mark A. Roeder

183

“No,” said Nick, “I always knew I was gay. Girls never did anything for me. As soon as I heard other guys talking about being attracted to girls, I just kind of thought, ‘What’s wrong with them?’” “I pretty much always knew, as well,” said Sean. “At least I knew as soon as it became important. Even in grade school, I liked looking at other boys, and I never had any sense of just measuring myself against them. I guess I did some of that too, but I never confused my attraction to boys with it.” “Hmm, I’m feeling remedial here, like I’m the only one who didn’t have the sense to figure things out,” I said. “I wouldn’t say that,” said Sean. “I think some guys just know right off and some don’t. I’ve read a lot of books about guys coming out and a lot of them are way confused about the whole thing. I don’t think it’s as easy as some people think. I also kind of doubt that anyone is 100% gay or straight, and that confuses things more. I mean, I’m gay, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel attracted to a girl. I have felt that. It didn’t confuse me because I already knew what I was, but I could see how it would confuse some guys.” “Yeah,” I said, “that makes sense. Like when I made out with Candi Cunningham and she had her hands all over my chest. That felt real good. I’m pretty sure she could’ve gotten me off. I think that’s one reason I didn’t really think I was gay—that, and the fact that I didn’t really think about it at all.” Sean and Nick seemed slightly embarrassed when I mentioned I thought Candi could’ve gotten me off. I don’t think they were used to anyone speaking so graphically about sex. It didn’t bother me at all. Sex was a fact of life. “So,” I said, “you guys know anyone who’s our age and gay?” “I’m afraid not,” said Nick. “We’re about the only out gay boys around. I do know a couple, but I’d have to ask them before I told you. They’re pretty secretive. It can be kind of dangerous being gay sometimes.” “Yeah, that’s for sure. I’ve seen that firsthand.” I was still keeping an eye out for trouble and I still intended to intervene, only now I wouldn’t bother wearing a mask. I’d stepped in a couple of times recently without the mask—nothing big, just telling jerks to lay off when they were giving some kid shit. I hadn’t seen the blond boy, Taylor, since he’d told me I was gay. Of course, that wasn’t all that long ago. “It was you who saved us that night those five guys were on us, wasn’t it?” asked Sean. “Yeah,” I said, smiling, “that was me.” “Thanks,” said Sean. “They would’ve messed us up if you hadn’t come along. We’re not exactly fighters, and five against two isn’t the best of odds.”

Mark A. Roeder

184

“Oh, I don’t know. You guys did pretty well when I jumped in. I think the odds would’ve gotten you, though.” “In any case, thanks,” said Nick. “We owe you.” “Well, just keep your eye out for guys I might like. I guess you could say I’m eager to explore this whole gay thing, if you know what I mean.” “We’ll keep our eyes out,” said Sean, grinning. Yeah, he knew what I meant. “So,” said Nick, “did you know you were gay when you saved us? Is that why you stepped in?” “No, I hadn’t realized it yet. I was just getting tired of the bullies. I hate guys who pick on other guys just because they can. I don’t mind kicking someone’s ass if they piss me off, but to pick on someone for the hell of it is just wrong. It seems like gay boys get picked on the most of all, so I kind of thought of myself as their champion.” “Speaking for all us gay boys,” said Nick. “Thanks!” I smiled. “There’s something I’ve been wondering about,” I said, “and maybe you guys can help me. Is there some way to tell if a guy is queer? I mean, is there something I can look for that will tip me off?” “Unfortunately, no,” said Sean. “What most people don’t realize is there aren’t gay looks, or traits, or mannerisms. There are stereotypes that some gay guys fit, but there are also a lot of straight boys who fit them.” “So, you mean, if some boy acts kinda girly, that doesn’t mean he’s gay? I don’t think I’d like that kind of guy anyway, but I always thought…” “No. That isn’t a good measuring stick. Most people think it is, but they’re wrong. That’s not really a gay trait. The truth is, there isn’t a visible trait that goes along with being gay. Some gay guys intentionally act how they think they should, and some fit the stereotypes naturally, but then there are straight boys who fit the gay stereotypes, too. About the only way you can tell is if a guy seems interested in you—eye contact. If he’s looking you over, and especially if he smiles when you catch him at it, or looks away guiltily, then that’s a pretty good clue. Other than that, you’re outta luck.” “Damn! I was hoping this would be easier.” “Nothing’s ever easy,” said Sean. “I feel like the whole world is different now, although I guess it’s me that’s different. Even that isn’t true, though. I’m not different, I’m just seeing myself differently, but it comes out the same. Now I know I want to be with a guy, but it’s all so unfamiliar and strange. If I wanted a girl, I could pretty much go out and

Mark A. Roeder

185

just pick one up right now, but with guys it’s so different. I don’t know who’s gay and who isn’t. I’m not afraid of getting beat up if I hit on the wrong guy, but I don’t want to go around coming on to straight boys, you know?” “Yeah,” said Nick. “Maybe you’re making it harder than it needs to be, though. Let’s face it, you’re hot, Skye. Word is out you’re queer, and all of the gay boys are going to be hot for you—well, most of them at least. Maybe all you have to do is sit back and wait for them to come to you.” “I hadn’t thought of that,” I said. “I’ve always gone after what I wanted in life. I’ve always tried to make things happen. I hadn’t considered just letting them happen. I’m glad you guys asked me to talk with you. This really helps.” “Hey, we gay boys have to stick up for each other, because if we don’t, who will?” We continued our conversation. I had a lot of questions about things most gay boys surely took for granted. I needed a remedial Gay 101 course, and Sean and Nick were excellent teachers.

Oliver

Usually I went more or less straight home after work, but I walked around Verona for a while, hoping to meet up with Ken. He’d never given me his number or his e-mail address. When I asked for them, he told me he preferred we just meet by chance, which I didn’t understand at all. Ken was mysterious and I liked that, but it would’ve been nice to at least know where he lived. He was so secretive that sometimes it hurt my feelings. He seemed to sense when that happened, and he always found a way to reassure me he cared, often by kissing me. I loved when he kissed me. I walked past Sean’s home. Through a distant parlor window, I could see the bright lights of a Christmas tree shining. It definitely made Graymoor look less haunted, but no less mysterious. I remembered what Nick said—secrets within secrets. I had no doubt that was true. Tiny points of sparkling light fell toward the ground, illuminated by the moonlight cutting through the clouds. At first there were only a few, barely noticeable, but then more and more until they surrounded Graymoor and myself. Snow—it was snowing. It was the first snow of winter, falling in December. Suddenly, I felt as if Christmas had come. I looked again at the lights of the distant Christmas tree, so inviting and warm. I could just picture a cozy fire in one of the parlor fireplaces. Sean was so lucky to live in such a place. The snow sharpened my awareness of the cold. I shivered and wrapped my arms about myself. I needed something warm to drink, but I didn’t feel like going home yet. I knew just where to go.

- 186 -

Mark A. Roeder

187

I so wanted to cross paths with my boyfriend. Perhaps he’d even be there. He had a knack for finding me, as if he knew where I was at any given moment. Find me now, Ken, I thought. I want you to hold me. Ken didn’t come, but as I opened the door to Ofarim’s, I discovered Skye sitting there with Sean and Nick. “Hey, Oliver!” said Sean in greeting. “Come on, join the club.” “He’s already in the club,” said Nick, laughing. “Club?” I asked, confused. “The gay club. You were born a member,” said Nick. “Have a seat.” I grinned shyly. “Let me order first. You guys are eating ice cream? You’re crazy! It’s snowing out.” I went to the counter. “Hey, Sandy. I’m in the mood for hot chocolate. You don’t happen to have any diet, do you?” “As a matter of fact, I do—just twenty calories.” “All right! Give me a cup then and put in just a few of those little marshmallows. Since it’s diet, I can splurge a little.” “You’re looking thinner, Oliver,” said Sandy. “Thanks! Skye’s been helping me lose weight.” “You look great.” I grinned. I had a long way to go, but I was thinner, and it made me feel good about myself. I had a cute boyfriend, I was slimming down, and Christmas was coming. Things were looking up. And now, Sandy even had diet hot chocolate! Yes! There was a little Christmas tree near one of the windows and paper decorations here and there. That’s what I liked about restaurants and stores. They were usually decked out for Christmas just after Thanksgiving. It was early December, but Ofarim’s was all set for the season. I went to the jukebox. What the place needed was some mood music. Oh yeah! “Rockin’ ’Round The Christmas Tree,” by Phantom! Perfect! I picked out a few other Christmas songs, also by my favorite group, and stuffed some quarters into the jukebox. The snow was falling faster outside, no doubt covering the ground in white. I was feeling mellow and content. My hot chocolate was soon ready and I took my steaming mug and joined Skye, Sean and Nick. “We’ve been discussing how to find Skye a boyfriend,” said Sean. “Yeah, like you’ll have any problems there, Skye,” I said. He laughed. “The guys think I can just wait and one will come to me.”

Mark A. Roeder

188

“I wouldn’t be surprised. There’ll probably be a line. Maybe we could have a lottery and use you as a prize!” “Funny,” said Skye. “Why don’t you go to the gay-youth-group meetings?” I asked Skye. “You might find a guy there.” “I don’t know if that’s for me,” said Skye, “or if I’m ready for it.” “Hey, why haven’t you been coming to the meetings?” asked Sean. “Ethan’s missed you.” “Well, it’s…I’ve been kind of busy with my new boyfriend and…” “New boyfriend?” asked Nick. “Okay, start talking. Tell us all about him!” “Sure, rub it in,” said Skye, but he was smiling. I took a sip of hot chocolate. It was so creamy and chocolaty. I’d never have guessed it was diet if I didn’t know. “Well…I met him at the meetings, Ken, that real cute boy with reddish-blond hair and blue eyes?” Sean and Nick looked at me blankly. “You must’ve seen him. He was at a few of the meetings after I started and he had to be going before. At least, Ethan didn’t introduce him as new like he did me.” “Ken,” said Sean, thinking, “Ken. The name isn’t familiar.” “Hey, there aren’t that many guys at the meetings!” I said. “Describe him again,” said Nick. “He’s sixteen, really cute, reddish-blond hair, about 5'10" or 5'11", kind of slim…” “Is this an imaginary boyfriend?” asked Skye, teasing me. “Hey, just because you’re jealous doesn’t mean I made up my boyfriend.” Skye laughed. “And you say he’s cute?” asked Sean. “Oh yeah, he’s cute,” I said, proudly. “There’s no way we could’ve missed a cute boy,” said Nick, looking at Sean and grinning. “Ken…” said Sean. “Ken…what’s his last name?” I had to think for a moment. He’d only mentioned it once. “Clark.” “Clark?” asked Sean, as if shocked. “Ken Clark?” “Yeah.” Sean suddenly looked very unhappy, as well as shocked and sad. “What’s the matter?” I asked. I was suddenly afraid. Was I going out with someone’s boyfriend or something?

Mark A. Roeder

189

“Lemme out for a minute,” said Sean to Nick. He scooted out of the booth and walked to a rack where newspapers and things were kept for the use of customers. He came back with a 1996-97 V.H.S. yearbook, the one from the previous year. He flipped through the pages and then handed the book to me. “Is that him?” There he was. Why had I never seen him at school? “That’s him!” I said, surprised. “Dude,” said Sean, his voice ominous. “What?” “You’re totally serious, right? This isn’t a joke?” “Why would I be joking?” Sean was scaring me. He was visibly upset. Nick and Skye were staring at him. Was something wrong with my boyfriend? “What’s wrong? Has something happened to him? Is he okay?” I was getting panicky. “You’re positive that’s him?” Sean asked. “Yes. I think I can recognize my own boyfriend. It’s him, no doubt about it, now will you tell me what’s wrong? Has something happened to him?” “This isn’t funny, Oliver, it’s not funny at all!” said Sean, near tears. “What?” “You’re lying, Oliver, I know you are.” “I’m not lying!” “You have to be,” said Sean angrily. Why was he so upset? “I promise you, I’m not.” “Listen, Oliver, if you’re trying to play some gag on me it’s not funny. You’re my friend, but this has got to end right now.” “I’m not playing tricks on you! Why won’t you believe me?” Sean looked at me, a mixture of pain and fear on his features. He looked around. Ofarim’s had cleared out. There was no one in the place but the four of us. “You’re really serious? You’ve really seen Ken Clark, the boy in this yearbook?” “Yes! That’s what I’ve been telling you. Why is it so hard to believe? Am I so hideous that no one will believe I have a boyfriend?” “It’s nothing like that, Oliver,” said Sean. “Then what it is?”

Mark A. Roeder

190

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Oliver, but Ken Clark died over six months ago.” I just sat there without moving or uttering a sound for several long moments. I didn’t even look at the others. “That’s not funny,” I said finally. My eyes were beginning to water. “It’s not a joke,” said Sean. “How can it not be?” I asked, too loudly. “Let’s all go back to my house and I’ll explain.” I looked at Sean suspiciously. I was hurt and upset. Why was he doing this to me? “I don’t want to hear anymore,” I said. “You’ve got to, Oliver. Listen, I know you don’t believe me, but come, let me show you something.” “Okay,” I said, because I was so shocked and upset I didn’t know what else to say or do. We all dumped our trash and walked outside into the falling snow. I shivered in the cold, but I felt even colder on the inside, as if my heart was freezing. This time, I didn’t enter Graymoor so eagerly. I was hurt and confused. Why was Sean saying such things—things that obviously couldn’t be true? Was it a setup for some joke he thought was going to be funny? I’d never thought of Sean as anything other than kind, but this…it just had the mark of cruelty. Since we’d met, I’d felt I could trust him. That alone made me follow him. I was glad Skye was there. He made me feel safer, although at the moment he seemed a bit fearful himself. We entered through the massive front door. I looked to the right as we headed for the stairs, gazing at the Christmas tree I’d seen through the window. It was huge and beautiful, like the room itself, but my heart was troubled and I couldn’t appreciate it at just that moment. Up and up we climbed, to the third floor. Sean led us all to his room and then dug in his wardrobe as we all sat expectantly on the bed. Nick alone appeared at ease as Sean pulled out a scrapbook and flipped through the pages. “Here it is,” he said. “I’m sorry.” Strange words, I thought as I took the book from him. I just stared at the newspaper clipping for moments that stretched into eternity. It was…impossible. “How?” I asked, my voice choked with tears. There was Ken’s picture. It was him. There was no doubt. There was the headline, Local Youth Beaten to Death. The clipping was from the Verona Citizen, the date in spring.

Mark A. Roeder

191

“How?” I repeated. I felt dizzy, grief-stricken, and afraid. Skye was staring at me. “Ken was one of three boys murdered last spring. My best friend, Marty, was another one. There was also a boy named Tony Paulik who was murdered, too. I’m surprised you don’t remember. It was all anyone could talk about for weeks.” “I remember the murders,” I said. “I heard about them, but I didn’t know the names.” “And you don’t remember Ken from school?” asked Nick. “No, I never saw him there. Of course, he was older and there are lots of guys. But, there’s got to be some mistake. Ken was murdered more than six months ago and I saw him…like…a few days ago.” “As hard as this is going to be to believe,” said Sean, “you’ve been dating a ghost.” There was complete silence in the room. Skye looked completely dumbfounded. Nick looked worried, but otherwise at ease with Sean’s announcement. I looked again at the newspaper clipping. “Did he have a twin brother?” I asked. Sean shook his head. “Come on,” I said. “You guys have seen me with him! You’ve had to see me talking to him, surely?” Nick started to speak, but then paused. “I…” “What?” “I did see you talking to yourself a couple of times,” said Nick, “or rather you were talking like you were talking to someone, but there was no one there.” Nick seemed reluctant to say the words, as if he was embarrassed for me. “I just thought…well, we all do weird things sometimes,” said Nick. I looked away. I was in pain. It was all too much. “You expect me to believe I’ve been dating a ghost?” I asked. “That’s just…crazy.” “We’ve seen stranger things in Graymoor and far more frightening things,” said Sean, seriously. “Maybe you guys are the ones who are crazy,” I said, crossly. I turned to Skye. “You don’t believe this, do you?” Skye looked uncomfortable. “I’m not sure what I believe.” I looked at him angrily. “Oliver, I believe you,” said Skye. “I believe you’ve been going out with this…Ken. Why would you make something like that up? That’s not like you. You’re disgustingly honest. But, you’ve got to admit it’s weird that no one else

Mark A. Roeder

192

has seen this boy you’ve been dating. You say he went to the youth-group meetings?” “Yeah, not all of ’em, but some.” “How could he go without being seen by anyone but you? Again, I’m not doubting your word, so don’t get mad, but think about it. Did he ever talk to anyone else? Did he ever participate?” I thought for several long moments. He never said a word during the discussions and I’d never seen him speak to anyone other than myself—ever. He wouldn’t give me his phone number, or his e-mail address. I looked into Skye’s eyes and shook my head. “So we have a boy whom no one but you has seen. You said yourself he looks exactly like the boy in the clipping, the boy who was murdered more than six months ago. The whole idea that you’ve been dating a ghost seems pretty impossible to me, but the facts do line up. Maybe there’s another explanation, but you’ve got to admit this makes sense, even if it doesn’t seem like it could possibly be true.” “Okay, let’s just say I have been dating a dead boy,” I said, none too happy. “Why can I see him when no one else can? Doesn’t that just mean I’m insane or something?” “You seem pretty sane to me,” said Nick. “This is really Marshall’s area,” said Sean, “but from what I’ve learned, a real ghost, the actual spirit of someone, has great difficulty appearing in a physical form. That’s why they’re usually transparent or appear only for a short span of time. Now, we’ll have to check on this, but I believe that a ghost can selectively appear to one individual using much less energy than would be required if it were to appear to several.” “That doesn’t make any sense to me,” said Skye. “Well, I think it has something to do with psychic abilities and so on. Like I said, it’s really Marshall’s area, but I think spirits can make certain people see them, while they remain invisible to all others. It’s got something to do with the mind. It’s almost like telepathy.” “This is too much,” I said, holding my head in my heads while I rubbed my temples. “You’re right,” said Sean. “It’s getting late and all this is too much. Let’s let it rest until later. I’ll talk to Marshall about it tomorrow and we’ll see what he says.” “Why don’t I walk you home,” offered Skye. “I have to go back to Ofarim’s anyway. I left my car there.” “Thanks,” I said.

Mark A. Roeder

193

My mind was numb as we left Graymoor. I was glad Skye was by my side. His strength made me feel safer. Could it really be true, what Sean said? Could my boyfriend really be the spirit of a murdered boy? It would just figure. I finally find a boyfriend and he turns out to be dead. No, it was just too crazy. Why was I even thinking about it? It couldn’t possibly be true.

Skye

Why was I feeling so lonely? I had a shitload of friends, including my best friend, Scott. I had my teammates, both from football and wrestling. Things were kind of shaken up, to be sure, but it wasn’t like I was sitting alone in a room somewhere with no one to talk to. I had plenty of people to hang out with, so why did I feel so fucking alone? The feeling wasn’t with me all the time, but I felt it grabbing for me whenever my friends and I were going our separate ways. It was like loneliness was some kind of creature just waiting to latch onto me, a predator stalking me. It was a feeling I hadn’t experienced before. I’d felt it a little at times, but nothing like this. I usually enjoyed being alone, especially if I was working out. It was cool enough when Scott or whoever came over to work out with me, but I kind of liked it with just me, my muscles, and the Bowflex. Well, whatever the reason for my loneliness, I wasn’t going to let it get to me. I’d just deal with it. If it didn’t go away on its own, I’d make it go away. After all, I was the Alpha male and even loneliness would bow to me. ✶

✶

✶

✶

Jarret Dilger looked at me again. I noticed him looking the first time right after I’d pulled off my shirt. He’d glanced quickly at my bare chest and then away again. I pulled off my jeans and boxers to slip on a jock. As I was pulling the jock on, I looked into the mirror on the end of the wall and saw Jarret gazing at me. I

- 194 -

Mark A. Roeder

195

turned around and he looked away, but then looked back again. Our eyes met. I felt something. Eye contact, that’s what Sean had said, right? I gazed at Jarret for a moment, slipped on my singlet, and then looked at him again. He smiled. I pulled the straps up over my shoulders and left the locker room. My heart was beating a little faster in my chest. Was Jarret queer too? I was gay; everyone knew that now. Jarret had been looking and he’d smiled at me. Was it an invitation? According to what Sean’d said, it probably was. I was so new at all this I felt like I needed an engraved invitation. I laughed at myself. Fuck, I’d never been hesitant or shy in my entire life, and I wasn’t about to start now. I could think this thing right into the ground, agonize over it or I could just fuckin’ act. Yeah, that was what I was gonna do—act. I felt especially powerful during practice. It was like my “on” days during workouts—those days when I felt especially fit and suspected I hadn’t put enough weight on the machine because it was just too easy. I knew what was causing the feeling today. I was aroused. I felt something coursing through my body that made me feel wild and animal-like. I almost felt like I’d grown fangs. I liked the sensation, and yet it gave me a feeling of nervousness, a feeling which was largely alien to me. I was glad I wasn’t too aroused. Our wrestling singlets didn’t leave a great deal to the imagination. If I got excited, it would be there for all the world to see, or in this case Coach Selby and my teammates. I didn’t mind the guys knowing I was gay, but I didn’t want them seeing me hard. Yeah, that would make them all comfortable in the locker room and showers, wouldn’t it? Jarret was another matter. He’d shown interest. He’d come onto me with his eyes. I grabbed his shoulder as we left the mats at the end of practice. I leaned over and quietly said, “I want to talk to you in the locker room after everyone’s gone.” He nodded, looking a bit fearful, but even more hopeful. I put no menace in my voice. I wasn’t going to hit him or anything like that, no matter how things went. I took my time. Before undressing for my shower, I went in and talked to Coach Selby. That was one way in which Coach Selby and Coach Brewer were alike; anyone could just go in and talk to him if they wanted. Neither of them was ever too busy, and if they were, they would make the time—if not now, then later. I had some things I wanted to talk to Mr. Selby about anyway. We’d covered the whole safe-sex thing in health, but I wasn’t sure how it applied to two guys. I sure didn’t want to get any diseases. I’d worked too hard on my body to let it go to hell because I did something stupid. I figured Coach was the one to

Mark A. Roeder

196

ask. He was gay after all. Strictly speaking, he probably wasn’t supposed to talk to me about things like that, but I knew he would. That was another way he was similar to Coach Brewer. I’m not gonna tell you what he told me. If you wanna know that stuff you can go look it up on the internet somewhere. I realized after I’d talked to him I could’ve done the same, but I think I trusted what I learned from him more because it was coming from someone older and experienced. It was pretty much as I’d guessed. There were certain things I was not gonna do until I got some condoms. The locker room was clearing out by the time I stripped off my singlet and headed for the showers. I took my time. I loved the feeling of hot water flowing down over my naked body. I liked being all soapy too. It was sexy, but it also just plain felt good. Not everything had to be about sex to be enjoyable. I took a towel from our new towel boy and team manager, Sidney Pudd. What an unfortunate name. A couple of the guys had made fun of his name on the first day, but I told them to knock it off. I was more sensitive to the name thing now. There was no use in ruining someone’s day just to get a laugh. If I were Sidney, I’d change my damn name as fast as I could. Pudd was bad enough, but Sidney? I think it was a worse name than Oliver’s. Anyway, Sidney wasn’t like Landon. He didn’t seem to get off on looking at any of us guys naked. I felt guilty when I thought of Landon. I wished for the millionth time that I’d helped that boy. His death was a scar I’d carry for the rest of my life. It was just Jarret, Alex, and I in the locker room as I walked in wearing my towel. Sidney was around, of course, but he’d gone off and was probably stuffing dirty towels into the washer or something. I chatted with Alex about the upcoming meet for a bit, making no move to dress or even dry off. Jarret was dressed, except for a shirt, which he pulled on as I was talking to Alex—a clean V.H.S. wrestling t-shirt. Alex slammed his locker and departed. I dried off, spending several long moments drying my hair with the towel over my face in case Jarret wanted to check me out. I’d never cared if a guy was checking me out even before I knew I was gay, and I sure as hell didn’t care now. I liked it. Maybe I was one of those…um…I don’t know the name for it, but guys who like to show off. I dried off my chest and arms next, looking at Jarret. He was watching me. He wasn’t staring hard or anything, but he wasn’t looking away, and he wasn’t trying to act like he wasn’t watching. I finished drying, pulled on my boxers and jeans, and tossed the towel into the bin. Most guys didn’t bother. They just left them on the benches or floor for the towel boy to pick up.

Mark A. Roeder

197

I kept my shirt off, because it made me feel sexy, and if Jarret was interested, he sure wouldn’t mind. I stepped toward him slowly. He stood up. “If you don’t like what I’m doing, just stop me,” I said, as I drew nearer. I reached out toward the bulge in his jeans, giving him plenty of time to say ‘no’ or freak out or whatever. He didn’t say a word. He just let me grope him. It set me on fire, that touch. It really was like fire, like fire that ripped through my whole body all at once. Jarret let me touch him. He wasn’t resisting. He liked it. I could tell he liked it from what I felt in his jeans. We couldn’t do anything in the locker room. Sidney was around somewhere, and there was no telling who might walk in. I’m sure even Coach wouldn’t have appreciated a couple of his wrestlers having sex in the locker room. I kind of liked the idea of that—sex in the locker room, that is, not Coach catching us—but it was out of the question. This was the real world. “You want to meet me later?” I asked softly. “After work? I get off at nine.” I wanted more than anything to just take Jarret home with me right that minute, but I had responsibilities. Part of being a man was living up to responsibilities, even when you’d much rather be doing something else. It was one hell of a test, but I was passing. “Yeah,” said Jarret, his voice kind of trembling. The fact that I still had my hand on the front of his jeans probably had something to do with the tremble of his voice. “Where?” I thought for a moment. My sister would be home by the time I got off work, so the house was out. We needed somewhere private, somewhere where no one would disturb us. “The graveyard,” I said. It would be kind of cold, but I couldn’t think of a single place indoors. Besides, I was sure we would find ways to stay warm. Jarret looked at me as if he suspected it was some trick. “Meet me at the gates a bit after nine and we’ll go in together.” He nodded. I removed my hand. Jarret hesitated for a moment and then leaned in and kissed me right on the lips. I kissed him back. Our mouths didn’t open, but we kissed hard. I liked it. “See you just after nine,” I said and then grabbed my shirt and left Jarret standing in the locker room. It was a wonder I could walk out the door. I thought my jeans were going to rip from the strain of my arousal. I had just a few minutes before work, so I stopped by the drug store and bought a box of condoms, the lubricated kind. Just to make sure, I bought a bottle of lube too. I just got the stuff and walked right up to the counter. I know most sixteen-year-old boys probably would’ve been all embarrassed buying con-

Mark A. Roeder

198

doms and lube, even if everyone knew they were straight. Not me. What I did was my own damned business, and I wasn’t gonna pussyfoot around. The lady working checkout acted no differently than if I’d been buying gum, but I wondered what she was thinking. I drove to Wahlberg’s and walked in the door just on time. Mr. Wahlberg wouldn’t mind if I was a little late. He wouldn’t even know since he wasn’t around all that much, but I liked to be on time whenever I could manage it. It was part of being responsible. Wahlberg’s was more fun now that Oliver and I had become friends. We used to kind of ignore each other, but he’d become someone I could talk to about things I didn’t discuss with anyone else, like my comic books. We were both gay too, so that gave us something in common. And then there was the whole weird thing with his boyfriend. Now that was freaky. Oliver was lugging a fifty-pound sack of chicken feed toward one side of the store when I walked in. He was staggering under the weight. “Hey man, let me help with that,” I said. I grabbed one end and we placed it carefully on the floor beside two others. “Those things make my arms ache,” said Oliver, rubbing his slim biceps. “There’s a whole load of ’em in back. A new shipment arrived today, and Mr. Wahlberg wants all of them stacked right here.” He pointed to the sacks of feed already in place. “Why don’t you let me handle them?” I asked. “Sounds good to me. U.P.S. delivered a few cases of candy. I’ll restock the jars. I think I can lift gum balls and lemon drops.” Oliver laughed. “We get anymore of those watermelon sticks?” “Yeah, I think so.” I walked over to the counter and looked through the boxes. I found what I was searching for, opened the box and pulled out an old-fashioned watermelon candy stick. I loved those things. I unwrapped it and bit off the end. Mr. Wahlberg didn’t mind if we ate a little candy, as long as we didn’t go wild. I never ate that much because I didn’t want to take in too many calories. “So, um…about your boyfriend,” I said. “Have you seen him again or heard anything from Sean?” I thought Oliver might not want to talk about it, and if he told me to mind my own business I would have, but I was understandably curious. It seemed too far out there to believe, but if it was true…

Mark A. Roeder

199

“I haven’t seen Ken again, but I talked to Sean. He said he was going to talk it over with Marshall and then we would get together. You’re welcome if you want to come.” “I’d appreciate that. This whole thing has me freaked out, but I’ve just got to know.” “You and me both,” said Oliver. I thought I should say more, but what could I say? It’s not like I could say something like, ‘I know how it is, one of my old boyfriends turned out to be a dead boy—man was that weird.’ Oliver set to work on the candy jars and I went out back to discover some fifty or so bags of chicken feed. I hefted one and carried it into the store. I was glad to have a mindless task to perform. I enjoyed talking with Oliver, but I had some thinking of my own to do. My mind was on Jarret—naturally. In just a few short hours I’d be meeting him, and the mere thought created the need for me to go into the stock room and relieve a little pressure, if you know what I mean. I wondered if that might a good idea. I’d never been with anyone before, and I didn’t want to start my first time with a premature ejaculation. On the other hand, I had excellent control. I’d practiced, you might say, over and over and over—probably hundreds of times. I’d trained myself to hold off and tonight I’d put my training to the test. I was so nervous you’d think I was going to be competing in the Olympics. To say that I was eager was a gross understatement. I was a virgin, and the whole idea of having sex consumed me. I hadn’t thought about it a whole lot before realizing I was gay, but once I understood who I was supposed to be attracted to, the floodgates opened and my desires increased a hundredfold. I didn’t just want sex, I needed it. I could no longer satisfy my desires alone. I needed a partner. Jarret Dilger just oozed sex. He was very handsome with his strong jaw line, slightly turned-up nose and full, kissable lips. I yearned to kiss him deeply—to slip my tongue right in there. I’d wanted to do that when he kissed me in the locker room, but a part of me wanted to save it. Besides, the locker room was not the place to make out. We’d already pushed it as far as we dared. As I carried one fifty-pound bag of feed after another into the store, I pictured Jarret in my mind. I loved his short, spiked black hair and big brown eyes. He was so sexy. Jarret was nicely built, too. He didn’t have my size, but he was beautifully defined, with killer abs and a cute butt. I wanted that butt. I wanted to grasp it and feel it.

Mark A. Roeder

200

I needed to calm myself down. I was breathing a little harder, and it had nothing to do with the chicken feed I was carrying. I knew I was going to have to control myself when I got with Jarret. I wanted to just jump on him, tear his clothes away and go at it. Hell, maybe that’s just what I’d do. Maybe he’d like that. I didn’t know how it was with guys. I just knew what I wanted. I was feeling so turned on and aggressive at the moment I felt as if I had fangs again. I liked the feeling. It made me feel strong, as if I’d just been working out. I carefully stacked the bags of feed as I thought about Jarret. I loved the anticipation. I loved being in those moments before what would be a turning point in my life. I knew I was gay, but I’d never done anything with another guy. Actually having sex would seal the deal, so to speak. I’d be gay all my life, even if I never so much as touched another guy, but consummating it with sex felt like a rite of passage. I just hoped Jarret wouldn’t chicken out on me. I knew he was interested. What I’d felt in his jeans told me that much. I don’t think he could’ve been any harder. He might still wimp out at the last moment. I was going to be pissed if he didn’t show, or if he did and wouldn’t put out. I didn’t have any other likely candidates for sex. Sean and Nick were hopelessly devoted to each other, and neither was exactly my type. I liked built guys. Oliver wasn’t my type either, and I don’t think sex would’ve felt right with him anyway. Oliver and I had a relationship already, and I just didn’t think sex would fit into it. Besides, I thought of Oliver as a kid, even though he wasn’t. Fourteen was still too young, though. Two years might not seem like a big difference, but it was at our ages. I just wasn’t attracted to him, either. Doing it with Oliver would be like doing it with my little brother, if I had one. Anyway, it would just feel all wrong, so it wasn’t an option. I knew I could find someone if Jarret wouldn’t go through with things, but that would take time. I wanted Jarret and I wanted him now. Was it my imagination, or had the clock stopped? A little before nine I was out the door. Oliver said he’d close up. I didn’t tell him what I was about to do, although I thought I might tell him after the fact. I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if I could share that kind of thing with him. He seemed kind of naïve and meek for me to be discussing sex with him. Then again, look at what we’d been discussing concerning his boyfriend—freaky. I parked the Skyemobile in the same spot I had the night I went to save Oliver. There was an old GMC pickup already parked nearby. I pulled a couple of blankets out of the trunk and walked to the front gates of the cemetery. Jarret was waiting on me. He had his hands in the front pockets of his leather jacket with his thumbs out. He looked so cute.

Mark A. Roeder

201

“Hey,” I said. “Hey.” “Let’s go in.” We stepped through the gate and were soon surrounded by tombstones and mausoleums. My thoughts weren’t on all the dead bodies surrounding us; they were on Jarret. We didn’t speak, but I was acutely aware of him as he walked beside me. His firm body and pouting lips called out to me. I wanted him, and soon I’d have him. I didn’t want to do it right on top of someone’s grave, so I stopped at a spot deep within the cemetery in a space where there were graves on all sides, but none where we stood. The blue moonlight illuminated Jarret’s handsome features, making him look mysterious and oh so appealing. We were surrounded by stillness and I felt as if I could almost hear our hearts beating fast and furious in our chests. I knew my own heart was pounding in my excitement. This was it. I spread out the blankets on the grass. Neither of us spoke as I stepped to Jarret. I gazed into his eyes, leaned forward and kissed him. I’d kissed girls, I’d made out with them, but that was nothing compared to what I was feeling. It was as if an electrical charge shot right through my entire body, filling me with a physical pleasure I could only describe as bliss. The pleasure deepened as our mouths parted, our tongues entwined, and we hungrily made out with one another. When our lips parted at last, I felt as if we’d already had sex. The desire to simply jump on Jarret was upon me. I resisted it, but I was still aggressive. I pulled away his jacket and flannel shirt and then pulled his wrestling shirt over his head, baring his torso. His body was a work of art. The sight of it filled me with lust. Okay, we’re getting into an intimate and personal part of my life here. I’m going to share it with you, but I don’t want this turning into cheap porn, so I’ll try to tell you what happened without getting too graphic. If this kind of thing offends you in some way, then I suggest you skip on down to the paragraph that starts out, ‘I rolled off Jarret panting’. If you get off on hearing about something like this, then I’ll just let you fill in the details yourself. Jarret was a little timid. It was obvious I was going to be making most of the moves, and that was fine by me. I was the Alpha male after all and Jarret was submitting to me. I pulled off my leather jacket and my shirt, shivering in the cold air, grabbed Jarret and kissed him hard once more while I pressed our chests together. The feeling of his bare skin against mine, the muscles of his chest press-

Mark A. Roeder

202

ing into my own, was a sensation that seemed almost indescribable. I sought out his warmth and strength. I didn’t know what it was like with a girl, but if it was anything like this, it was no wonder guys wanted it so bad and went on and on about it. Jarret was eager. He went for my jeans. I went after his at the same time and it wasn’t long at all before we were both standing there in our boxers. We had to pause a moment to pull off our shoes and socks. That’s something they never show in movies. Somehow the shoes and socks just kind of disappear, but this was real life. I enjoyed the anticipation and looking at Jarret’s muscles as he tugged off his socks. Jarret was looking me over like a starving man at a buffet. In the locker room, he’d been stealing looks, but now he was staring hard and licking his lips. It felt good to be wanted. It was kind of like the feeling I got when I was fully clothed or just had my shirt off and I knew someone was checking me out. I knew they wanted me, and it made me feel desirable and powerful. I’d long ago learned to use my body to my own advantage. They say looks don’t matter, and in some cases they don’t, but I knew a lot of people cut me slack because I was good looking. Our shoes and socks gone, we were truly naked except for our boxers. I resisted the temptation to rip them away and pulled Jarret to me and kissed him once again. I hungered for the taste of his lips. I’d experienced nothing like this before. Girls couldn’t compare. Maybe it was just a guy thing or maybe it was Jarret, but he was so aggressive when we made out. I’d always been a little disappointed in girls because they reacted to my kisses instead of acting on their own. Jarret wasn’t just reacting. He was going at it almost as aggressively as I was. There were probably girls like that, but I’d never met one. Okay, I’ll stop talking about girls before I ruin the mood. It was Jarret who dropped to his knees in front of me and pulled down my boxers. He’d overcome his initial hesitation. He leaned in and engulfed me. I’d never felt anything like that before! I had to summon all the control I could muster to keep from losing it. I think my eyes might’ve actually rolled back in my head because I couldn’t see anything for few moments. While my vision returned and Jarret got down to business, I realized how much I enjoyed not only what he was doing with his mouth, but our very positions. Jarret was on his knees in front of me and I stood over him. It made me feel dominant and in control, which you probably know by now is something that appeals to me. If not, maybe I haven’t said “Alpha male” enough. I would’ve

Mark A. Roeder

203

taken immense pleasure in standing over him even if he wasn’t doing what he was doing. The pleasure was intense and it just kept building. I’d heard of a feeling so good it almost hurt, but I’d never experienced it before that night with Jarret in the cemetery. I almost thought I was going to have to make him stop, and that’s the last thing I wanted to do. I did something I don’t think Jarret liked, even though he didn’t say anything about it. At the time, his mouth was too full to object, but even later he didn’t yell at me or anything for it. Anyway, I was losing control. I grabbed the sides of his head and used him for my pleasure. I lost it. I ejaculated. My orgasm was so exquisite I cried out loud. I thought I was gonna pass out! Only when I’d finished did I release Jarret. He fell back on the blankets gasping for breath. I think I might’ve almost suffocated him by accident. Like I said, though, he didn’t complain. I owed Jarret and I wanted him bad, so I went down on the blankets with him and practically tore his boxers right off. I pulled one of the blankets over us and went down on him. His moans let me know he liked it. I didn’t swallow for Jarret. I could tell when he was about to cut loose, so I pulled back and watched, shoving the blanket off us. It was like my own private porno show. Watching him get off almost got me off again. It was that hot. We were still all worked up. I, for one, felt like I could do it over and over all night long. We lay there between the blankets making out, rubbing up against each other. I loved feeling his hard muscles against my own. I think that’s one of the things I loved most about sex. When we’d been going at it a good long time and I yearned to stick my manhood in his mouth again, I reached for my leather jacket and pulled out my drugstore purchase. I opened up the boxes while Jarret watched. He didn’t say anything, but he knew what was coming. He looked a little frightened, but he didn’t make a move to stop me. I unrolled the condom over my manhood, just like the box said. I wanted to do it just right. I liked the way it felt. Once the condom was in place, I put on the lubricant. There was some on already, but I figured more was better, especially for Jarret and I didn’t want to hurt him. “I’ve never done this before,” said Jarret nervously, as I rolled him over onto his stomach. “I’ll take it easy. I promise,” I said. “I don’t know, man. I don’t think I can handle it. Maybe next time we can…” I entered him and he yelped in pain. “Take it out!” he cried between clinched teeth.

Mark A. Roeder

204

I didn’t pull out, but I held myself motionless. After a few moments, I pushed it in deeper. Jarret cried out again. I don’t really know if Jarret protested after that or not. I could hear him saying some things, but I was too focused on the mind-blowing pleasure to pay him any heed. I have to admit I used him and I liked doing it. It wasn’t long at all before I lost control. I rolled off Jarret panting. I’d really gone at it. Jarret didn’t look so happy, but I felt like I could fly. Jarret pulled on his boxers and said he had to go home. I was ready to go again, but I figured I’d pushed things with him as far as I could and probably further than I should’ve.

Oliver

Can this possibly be happening? That’s what I asked myself as I entered the dining room with Sean to find Skye, Nick, and Marshall already seated at the vast table. We’d gathered to talk about Ken, to discuss the possibility he wasn’t what he seemed. That was the freaky part. That was what was so unreal. My boyfriend a ghost? I felt like I’d stepped into some messed-up parallel universe or something. “Hey, Oliver,” said Marshall. “Hi.” I’d met Marshall before, but didn’t know him well. He seemed okay, although he was rather odd. At least he was no jerk. I took a seat near Skye, remembering the night of the séance. Graymoor had seemed spooky and fun on Halloween, but the harsh reality facing me made the old house feel forbidding. “Sean has filled me in on your situation and told me about his suspicions,” said Marshall. “Okay,” I said, nodding. I found it hard to focus. My eyes were drawn to the windows, framed by heavy maroon curtains. The light of the chandelier reflected off the glass as if it were a mirror, making it impossible to see out into the yard. What if someone was outside in the dark watching us? What if something was inside doing the same? “I think you’re dealing with a spirit,” said Marshall. “There are too many coincidences to be explained away. However, I think our first step—if you’re willing, of course—is to test our theory, just to eliminate other possibilities we may not have considered.”

- 205 -

Mark A. Roeder

206

“Other possibilities?” I asked, my attention drawn back to Marshall. “Like there’s some weird coincidence here and I’m dating a real, live boy?” “A boy no one else can see,” said Sean. “A boy who looks exactly like someone who is dead,” said Nick. “I think there’s little doubt we’re dealing with a spirit here, but it is possible we’re wrong. After all, this is an extremely unusual situation, not without precedent, but exceedingly rare.” “And how do we test this theory?” asked Skye. “It will mainly be up to Oliver. We need to make sure that Ken is truly invisible to everyone except Oliver.” Marshall turned to me. “Oliver, the next time you see Ken, get him into a situation that will allow you to confirm that others can or cannot see him. Simply introduce him to others passing by, it doesn’t matter who, and see whether or not they’re aware of him. If they can see him, it’s less likely we’re dealing with a ghost. If they can’t, we have our answer.” I was a bit uncomfortable with the idea, mainly because I’d look like a loon if others really couldn’t see Ken. Then again, I wasn’t sold on this whole ghost idea. It seemed too out of this world to be true. “Now, what’s the longest period of time you’ve seen Ken?” asked Marshall. “That would be when we went to the movies. I was with him for just over two hours, I’d say, although he went to the bathroom and was gone for a while during the film.” “Okay, that’ll give us an even simpler test. When you see him next, try to keep him with you for an extended period of time—all day or night if possible. If he’s a spirit, he shouldn’t be able to remain visible to you for that long. He’ll try to make up an excuse to leave, but don’t let him.” I nodded. Sean had explained last time why ghosts could only maintain a visible form for limited periods of time. Marshall gazed into my eyes after a few moments of silence. “You don’t really believe this, do you? You think the idea of Ken being a ghost is crazy.” “Not…crazy,” I said slowly. “It’s just all rather hard to believe. If I thought it was crazy, I wouldn’t be sitting here and I sure wouldn’t be cooperating. The whole thing with Ken looking exactly like the Ken who was murdered has me wondering and frightened. I’d think all the other stuff was just coincidence if it wasn’t for that. I can’t get him to tell me where he lives. He won’t give me his phone number or e-mail address. He never sticks around for long. All these things could be explained away. Even the fact that Sean and Nick don’t remember seeing him at the meetings and that no one else appears to have seen him at

Mark A. Roeder

207

all wouldn’t be enough to make me suspicious, but when you add in this whole connection to the murdered boy—well, it’s gets scary.” “Fair enough,” said Marshall. “I know this kind of thing is hard to believe for someone not accustomed to dealing with ghosts, but it makes perfect sense to those of us who have. I think you’ll find, too, that more people have ghostly experiences than will admit to it.” “What kind of experiences have you had?” I asked. Little did I know how long the answer would be. Marshall began a tale of the sightings of the ghosts of Graymoor that lasted well over an hour. Sean did most of the talking, as he’d had the most experiences with them, but the story went on and on. I don’t mean it was boring, it was anything but; there was just a lot to it. Parts of it, like the reenactment of the ax murders, made me quake with terror, but it was all fascinating. As I sat there I thought to myself how the story was far too detailed and precise to be made up. “I’ve seen a ghost,” said Skye after Sean and Marshall had finished. “It was when I was a boy. One night, my uncle came into my room and sat down on the edge of my bed. He told me to take care of my mom and to help her not be too sad. I looked down for a second, and when I looked up again he was gone. I didn’t think anything about it until the next morning when I found out he’d died during the night. He lived pretty far away and he’d been killed in an auto accident near his home at just about the same time I received a visit from him.” Skye had seen a ghost? His short tale made me believe in them more than everything Marshall and Sean had said. Marshall was kind of crazy in his way. He was obsessed with supernatural stuff; everyone knew that. I had a feeling Marshall would see ghosts whether they were there or not. Sean didn’t have that kind of reputation, but, still, hearing about ghosts from Skye was more convincing. All Skye cared about was working out and sports. He wasn’t into supernatural stuff at all. “If we determine that Ken is, in fact, a ghost,” said Marshall, “our next task will be to figure out what it is he wants. Most ghosts contact the living because they need help or simply because they don’t realize they’re dead. In this case, I’m leaning toward the latter. Ken hasn’t merely contacted you; he has initiated a relationship. Now, it’s no business of mine as to how far this relationship has gone, but it leads me to believe that we’re dealing with a spirit who is unaware he’s no longer living.” “We’ve just kissed, that’s all,” I said, feeling slightly embarrassed. “And, we’ve held hands. If he’s a ghost, we couldn’t do much more than that anyway, right?” Marshall shook his head. My eyes widened.

Mark A. Roeder

208

“You mean a ghost can…make love?” “It’s happened before,” said Marshall. I swallowed hard. “How could someone not know they’re dead?” asked Skye. “It happens more frequently that you would think,” said Marshall. “I won’t pretend to know what it’s like to die, but some spirits get lost. They die, find themselves in a situation they don’t understand and then cling to what they knew in life. They only see what they want to see, so that, to them, it makes perfect sense if their friends and family don’t respond when they communicate. And then, there are those who can communicate with ghosts. This can cause a spirit to more stubbornly believe it is still living.” “Let’s say we find out Oliver’s boyfriend is a ghost. What do we do then?” asked Skye. “If he simply isn’t aware of his passing, we’ll contact him and explain the situation. Hopefully, that will be enough and he’ll be able to move on. If he’s aware he’s a spirit, we’ll have to determine his reasons for doing what he’s doing.” “So he could be up to no good?” asked Skye, looking at me with a worried expression on his face. “I doubt it,” said Sean. “I knew Ken Clark. He was a nice guy—very concerned about gay rights. I can’t believe he’d set out to harm a boy he knows is gay.” “Yeah, I remember Ken, too,” said Skye. “He was an activist, a real in-your-face annoyance. I could see him causing trouble for anti-gays, but not one of his own.” Was I dreaming? Our discussion, our whole situation, seemed so unreal. My mind wanted to reject it all as nonsense, but there were too many unanswered questions. On top of that, I’d always felt like there were lots of things no one understood about the world. Some people seemed to think that science could explain anything and everything, but I figured there was lots more to the universe than that. I guess it was a kind of faith, really. I didn’t necessarily refuse to believe in something just because I couldn’t see it, and that extended to ghosts. Still, the whole thing was so bizarre I wondered if I wasn’t just going crazy. Skye walked me home, and I felt safe with him at my side. We didn’t talk. I think both of us were too busy thinking our own thoughts. I found the cloak of darkness comforting and familiar. Things were changing, altering in ways I’d never thought possible. I felt more secure with something familiar to hold onto. Skye was comforting too. I’d grown accustomed to his friendship, and sometimes we could communicate without words. It was like that as we walked away from Graymoor. The silence said all that needed to be said.

Skye

“What are you doing up, tough stuff?” I asked Colin. It was way past his bedtime when I let myself into the house. “Watchin’ TV.” “Where’s your mom?” “Upstairs.” “Well, I think it’s time for you to go to bed.” “Okay, Uncle Skye,” said Colin, yawning. I knew he was tired, even without the yawn. Colin wasn’t big on bedtime, and his lack of defiance indicated exhaustion. I leaned over and Colin wrapped his arms around my neck. I lifted him from the couch and shut off the TV. He planted a kiss on my cheek as I carried him up the stairs. I mussed his hair. As we passed Janelle’s bedroom, I peeked inside. She was asleep on top of the covers, an open book lay on the floor where it had fallen. I carried Colin to his room and helped him into his pajamas. I tucked him in, kissed his forehead and watched as his heavy eyelids closed, before he began to breathe softly in sleep. I felt sorry for my parents at just that moment. They were missing out on the life they could’ve had with their grandson. I turned and headed for my own bed.

- 209 -

Mark A. Roeder

✶

✶

✶

210

✶

The next morning, I greeted Jarret in the hallway, and he barely acknowledged me. The few times our paths crossed during the day, he looked away uncomfortably. Was it because we’d had sex? Or, was it because I’d gotten a little out of control and used him? In the locker room it seemed he didn’t want to be around me at all. I wasn’t about to get into it with all our teammates around, so I pulled him to an unoccupied corner of the gym before wrestling practice. “What’s wrong with you, Jarret?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” “Is it because I got a little rough?” He was silent for several moments. “It’s because it happened at all. I shouldn’t have let you seduce me.” Seduce him? Wasn’t he the one checking me out in the locker room? “Dude, you could’ve said ‘No.’ It’s not like I forced you.” “I didn’t say you did.” “Well, then what’s the big deal? You wanted it, didn’t you?” “Yes. No. I don’t know!” “It’s not that big of a deal, Jarret. It’s not like I’m gonna tell anyone.” He was silent. “You want to get together tonight?” I asked. Jarret looked like he did, in fact, want to get together with me very badly, but he said “No!” too loudly. “Okay. I don’t know about you, but it felt fucking awesome for me!” “Well, you weren’t getting fucked, were you?” “Is that what this is about?” “Yes and no. You shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have let you. The whole thing was a mistake.” “No, it wasn’t.” “I’m not like you, Skye. I’m not gay.” “Not gay? What was that last night, dude? I hate to tell you this, but what we were doing, well, that’s pretty much the definition of gay sex.” “I was just experimenting, okay? I was just curious, but it’s not for me. I don’t want to do it again.” Liar, I thought. You want it again. You’re just afraid. You loved it as much as I did. I said, “Hey, you don’t have to do it again. I’m not going to force you.”

Mark A. Roeder

211

Jarret looked down at the polished gym floor. The boy had issues. There was no way he could’ve given me head like he did the night before without being totally into it. He couldn’t possibility have been all over my body like that if he was only experimenting. He could have his way, though. I was disappointed, because making it with Jarret was hot; but he wasn’t the only fish in the sea, so to speak. We joined the others for practice. I noticed Jarret tried to distance himself from me. Was he that afraid? He was being kind of stupid. The guys would’ve been much less likely to suspect something was up between us if he’d just acted normal instead of like something was up his butt. I got to thinking later and I kind of felt like I’d wasted my first time on Jarret. It wasn’t that it wasn’t satisfying. Hell, it was mind blowing! The thing was it wasn’t likely to happen again. Jarret would probably never even want to talk about it. We’d shared this intense, beautiful experience, and he wanted to act like it’d never happened. I felt, I don’t know, cheated somehow. I figured having sex with someone should make you closer, not more distant. Jarret and I hadn’t been close buddies before we did it, but if the day after was any indication, we were going in the opposite direction. I didn’t have dreamy ideas about having a boyfriend. Yeah, a relationship like that would be cool someday, but I wanted to do some exploring first. There were too many guys around to settle for just one. I guess if I met some totally incredible guy it would be different. If Jimmy was still alive, and interested, I would’ve dated him in a flash. But Jimmy was gone, killed by the steroids that made him. ✶

✶

✶

✶

“Hey,” said Scott. “Hey.” It was Sunday morning and Scott had come over to have breakfast and lift weights. It was the first time we’d talked alone since word spread that I was queer. I’d seen him in the halls at school and sat with him at lunch, but those weren’t places to get into such things. I’d thought of calling him, but I didn’t want to discuss it on the phone either. It wasn’t that I feared some big scene. It’s just that talking to your best friend after he’s found out you’re gay is well…different. Janelle was out for the day. She’d taken Colin for breakfast at Denny’s, and then they were shopping for some new shoes for him. I was glad to be alone with Scott. It made things easier.

Mark A. Roeder

212

Scott was sitting at the kitchen table while I was whipping up some French toast. We were going to have a big breakfast and then a good workout on the Bowflex. French toast was my specialty. I’m not gonna tell you my secret recipe. Then again, what the hell? It’s not like I’m gonna open my own restaurant. Most people make French toast with just eggs and milk—dip the bread, grill it in a skillet, and it’s done. Not me. First of all, for really good French toast you gotta have more than just eggs and milk. I add some brown sugar, a little vanilla, a bit of nutmeg, some cinnamon, and, here’s the most secret part, a touch of pumpkin-pie spice. I don’t let the bread soak until it gets soggy. I just dip it in, let it soak up a little of the egg mixture and then take it out. You think it’s ready for the skillet then? If you said ‘yes,’ you’re wrong. Before I grill it, I dip the slices in crumbled up Frosted Flakes. They’re great with French toast! I crush up about a cup, coat each slice with the crushed Frosted Flakes, and then I put it in the skillet and cook it until it’s just golden brown. I like to use Shed’s Spread to cook the toast in, although any old margarine will do. It gives it a nice buttery taste. When the toast is grilled, I take the whole skillet and put it in the oven. We have one of those skillets with a metal handle so I can do that. By then, I’ve preheated the oven to about 350 degrees, and I let it bake for ten minutes. Then, I take it out, put the French toast slices on plates, cover them in syrup and more Shed’s Spread, dust them with powdered sugar, sprinkle on some pecan pieces, and devour them. It’s the best French toast ever. It’s almost better than sex, and I know ’cause I’ve had sex! “So, what do you think?” I asked as we sat down and began to eat. “It’s great French toast.” “I know that. I mean about me being gay.” “You’re gay?” asked Scott, as if he was astonished. It made me laugh. “As if you don’t know.” “I’m cool with it man. It gives us something else in common.” “You’re gay?” I asked, dropping my fork onto the plate in shock. “How come you never told me?” “I’m bi, and I never told you because I figured you’d freak out.” “Fair enough,” I said. “I would’ve told you about me, I think, but truthfully, I didn’t figure out I was gay until recently.” “How could you not know something like that?” Scott sounded incredulous. “I just…I dunno…I never thought about it. Maybe I didn’t want to think about it. I mean, I was dating girls sometimes and I just figured I never went too far with them because I didn’t have time to get into a relationship.”

Mark A. Roeder

213

“That’s kind of lame, Skye. There are plenty of girls who would give it up to you without a relationship.” “Yeah, you’re right, of course, but…I dunno…I guess I didn’t see it because I didn’t want to, you know? I’ve always noticed other guys, but I just told myself I was comparing, sizing them up. I didn’t know I had the hots for them.” “Are you sure you’re gay, Skye?” “Uh, yeah! Especially after…well, I’ll tell you about that later.” “Tell me now.” “I fucked Jarret Dilger.” “No way! He’s queer?” “Well, now he’s saying he was just experimenting, but that’s bullshit.” “Fuck, Jarret’s hot. I’d do him anytime.” “Hell, yeah! But don’t tell anyone I did it with him. He’d freak out.” “His secret is safe with me, unless I want to blackmail him into sex.” Scott’s comment startled me. He picked up on it. “I was kidding—kidding! I’m not that desperate.” Scott laughed. “So, why did you ask if I was sure about being gay?” “It just seems weird you didn’t know,” said Scott. “I knew I liked boys by the time I was twelve, even though I liked girls, too. I always thought that everyone knew as soon as they hit puberty. Of course, I thought everyone liked both boys and girls for a while there, too.” “I don’t know,” I said, “maybe I did know, real deep down, but I can’t remember thinking about it even once. I just never considered the option. I’ve always been so involved with guy stuff it didn’t seem like a possibility. Seriously, when you think of a gay guy, you don’t think of someone like me.” “I guess that’s true, but what about Coach Brewer?” “Well, I don’t think anyone would have a clue about him if he wasn’t out, but he is gay, so there’s at least one other jock who’s queer—well, two with Coach Selby. I always kind of thought of Coach Brewer as the exception to the rule, but maybe I was wrong.” We ate in silence for a couple of minutes. During that time I looked at Scott in a new way. My best friend was bi. I’d never suspected. Of course, I’d never bothered to think about it. Scott was a handsome young man, and he definitely had a nice body. I felt a stirring in my shorts as I looked at him. “So have you messed around with another guy?” I asked. “Yeah. You remember Ken Clark?”

Mark A. Roeder

214

I froze at the mention of the name, but quickly recovered. I don’t think Scott noticed. “That boy who was murdered?” “Yep, that’s him. We messed around a few times.” “Damn, dude, I’m sorry—about him dying I mean. I didn’t even know you knew him. That must’ve been rough for you.” “Well, it was kinda messed up when he was killed. It freaked me out. It’s not like we were boyfriends or anything. It wasn’t as bad as it would’ve been if someone had killed you, but it was still upsetting.” “I can imagine. Shit, you could’ve talked to me about it. I would’ve understood.” “I thought about it, but I didn’t want to risk our friendship when I’d just lost Ken.” I nodded. I wished I’d been less of a dick so Scott could’ve come to me for some comfort and understanding. “So, you and Ken had something going?” “Yes. Like I said, we weren’t dating or anything like that, but we had sex together. We got together at least once a week for blowjobs.” “You ever go further?” “Nope, I’ve never done that. I’m not entirely sure I want to. At least I don’t think I’d want to be on the receiving end. It seems like it would hurt like hell.” “Jarret acted like it did.” Scott grinned and shook his head. “I really can’t believe we’re having this conversation.” “In a way, I can’t either, but hey, we are what we are. So I fucked Jarret Dilger. Is that all that different from Greg Whitmore saying he fucked Candi Cunningham? We’re both guys, but what’s the big deal?” “There is one big difference. I bet Greg has never laid Candi, despite his claims.” “Yeah, you’re probably right about that.” “I know what you mean, though. If it’s a guy and a girl, no one thinks much about it, but if it’s two guys, they freak out. Some people act like it’s wrong because no one can get pregnant when it’s two guys, but most girls don’t want to get pregnant anyway. That’s why they have tons of contraceptives—just to prevent what can’t happen with two guys. It seems to me that opposite-sex pairs are trying for what same-sex couples have naturally.” “I never thought of it that way.” “You are kind of a virgin to all this.” “Nope, not me! Jarret took care of that.”

Mark A. Roeder

215

“You know what I mean! You’re a virgin to gay thought and culture. Popping Jarret has nothing to do with it.” I guess he was right about that. We were finished with breakfast, so we put the dishes in the dishwasher and headed for my room. The knowledge that Scott was bi changed things. As he pulled off his shirt, preparing to work out, I looked at him in a new way. Never before had I thought of him sexually. It was kind of funny—not amusing funny, but weird funny. I figured my gayness would alter how Scott thought about me, but I had no idea I’d be looking at him in a new way as well. Scott wasn’t quite the same Scott anymore. I don’t mean I liked him less or more, or anything like that, but my feelings for him were subtly altered. The shoe was on the other foot, so to speak, and it gave me an insight into how others felt about me. There was something else about Scott, something more. I’d always known Scott was attractive, but now that meant something. My newfound awareness of my sexual orientation brought my desires surging to the surface. Before, I’d channeled my sexual tension into working out. I never masturbated before lifting because abstinence/frustration gave me an edge, a little bit of extra power and aggression that I could channel into bigger muscles. When I experienced sexual desire, it was inner directed. I thought of sex in terms of sex with myself. Now, all that was changed and I was looking at those around me in a whole new way— especially Scott. Scott was looking damn fine as he did chest presses. I loved the way his pectoral muscles tensed and flexed. There was something about a guy with a nice chest. I’d always taken notice of that particular area of the body, and now it was the area I found most sexually attractive. That was a real asset when you think about it. Not many guys go around displaying what’s between their legs, but most guys will pull off their shirt and think nothing of it. Working out rarely failed to sexually stimulate me. Part of that was no doubt due to my practice of not relieving sexual tension before a workout. Watching Scott and knowing he liked guys took my excitement to new heights. I began to wonder if Scott would like to join me in relieving some tension. We were friends after all, and we jerked off together regularly. What would happen if I tried to take things a step further? I didn’t say anything about it as we did lats and curls, but Scott probably noted the look in my eyes. I was admiring his firm, young body and I wasn’t trying to hide it. Why should I? He knew I was gay and I was aware of his bisexuality, so what was there to hide?

Mark A. Roeder

216

Scott sat on the bench after our workout and I sat down beside him. I was all worked up and ready for some action. Scott was looking his best, all toned and pumped and kind of sweaty. I was feeling vital and alive. I put my hand on his leg and looked into his eyes. “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, the answer is no,” said Scott. “But why not?” I asked, probably sounding way too much like a child pouting. “I like dick; you like dick. We both have one and we’re friends, so why can’t we help each other out?” “Because we’re friends.” “Huh? That doesn’t make sense, Scott.” “It makes a lot of sense. Look, if I said I didn’t find you attractive, I’d be lying through my teeth. You’re fucking hot. If I said I haven’t thought about sex with you, that would be another lie. But, I don’t want things to change between us. I don’t want to risk messing up our friendship. Sex changes things. I’m sure it would be beyond hot if we did it, but it wouldn’t be worth it. Sooner or later, it would mess things up between us. I don’t know how or when, and I don’t know who would get hurt, but it would probably happen and it’s not worth the risk. I’ll level with you, Skye, you are the hottest guy I know, but I’d rather have you for a friend than as a lover.” I sat there silently for a moment and then looked Scott in the eyes. “You know I really hate it when you’re right,” I said. Scott laughed. “You really need it bad, don’t you?” “I think I could cream my shorts without touching myself,” I admitted. “Well, then, it shouldn’t be too hard for you to solve the problem,” said Scott, making jerking motion with his hand. “Yeah, but it’s not that same!” “So go on the prowl, Skye. Word is out you’re gay. All the gay boys in town must want you. Just go find one.” “Easier said than done, I’m sure.” “Yeah, well, I’m sure it will be easier for you than for anyone else,” said Scott without jealousy. I appreciated his compliment. “You’re sure you don’t wanna…” “Don’t tempt me, Skye.” “Why don’t we just do what we’ve done before? We don’t have to touch each other, we can just…” “I think we need to put an end to that, Skye. Knowing what we both know would make it too tempting. I’ll be honest with you. I know what you want and I

Mark A. Roeder

217

want it so bad myself I’m about ready to jump on you, but it would ruin us, Skye. I care about you too much to let that happen.” Scott stood and put on his shirt. “Call me sometime and we’ll eat out or play basketball or whatever.” I nodded. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but I knew deep down he was right. Scott left me alone in my room. I was frustrated and a bit upset—frustrated because I really wanted to do it with Scott and upset because I wasn’t getting what I wanted. I knew I shouldn’t have asked again after he turned me down, especially when his reason for not messing around with me made such sense. I didn’t want to mess up our friendship either. On the other hand, I needed sex bad. Scott was bi, and he would’ve enjoyed it as much as me. Why shouldn’t friends be able to do it with each other? That argument made sense, too, although maybe not as much sense as Scott’s. Hell, he was right. I knew it. I was just thinking with my dick. I’d have to knock that shit off around Scott. He’d been patient with me, but he’d also drawn a line. As his friend, I shouldn’t try to cross it. I looked at myself in the mirrored closet door. I was pumped and sweaty. Was it weird that I turned myself on? Maybe not, since I was gay and had a great bod, but I didn’t think I’d ask just anyone; they’d think I was conceited or something. A thought occurred to me—I’d been my only sexual partner, so to speak, throughout my entire life, except for the one time with Jarret. Why wouldn’t the sight of me turn me on? It was like one of those conditioned responses maybe, like Chekhov’s or Pavlov’s or who-the-hell-ever’s dog. When I looked at me I saw the guy who got me off, so maybe it was natural. Maybe it was a tip off I was gay, too. After all, I was male and I was attracted to myself; that was surely homosexual. I ceased thinking about it. My little debate was interesting in its own way, but it wasn’t solving my problem. I needed some relief before I popped. I considered the usual and even began to pull down my shorts, but then I remembered what Scott had said about everyone knowing I was gay and how all the gay boys in town must want me. Maybe it was time to just cruise around town and see what, or who, came up. I could always come back home and whack it if my hunt was unsuccessful. I drove the Skyemobile to V.H.S. and left it in the parking lot. I know the definition of cruising involves a car, but I wanted to get out on foot. Unfortunately, it was too cold to go shirtless, but I’d picked out an A&F “Football” shirt that showed off my build and a pair of loose Gap jeans. I shivered in the cold, but it was an acceptable price to pay for looking good.

Mark A. Roeder

218

I’d been doing some thinking about my Abercrombie & Fitch obsession. For a long time, I’d thought it just wasn’t cool to wear anything else, unless it was from Structure, Hollister, The Gap, or maybe American Eagle. I was beginning to think that maybe it wasn’t so much cool as stupid. I don’t like admitting this, but I wondered if I’d been lured into buying the clothes by the hot A&F models in the catalogs. There was kind of an unspoken, unwritten promise that if you wore the clothes, you’d look like the guys in the catalog. Okay, I did look like the guys in the catalog. Hell, I looked better, and, shut up, I’m not being conceited. I’m just telling the truth. Still, I kind of felt like I’d been tricked—like I’d been suckered in to paying forty bucks for a shirt, when I could’ve found something just about like it elsewhere for half that. Okay, a big confession is coming up, so pay attention. I’m not gonna repeat this. I already knew that places like J.C. Penney, Sears, and even (gasp) Wal-Mart had some clothes that were just good as all the A&F and Structure stuff I was always buying. I’d seen guys wearing shirts I knew came from K-Mart that looked as good as what I had on, only they didn’t say Abercrombie on them somewhere. I wouldn’t have been caught dead in one of those shirts, and here comes my big confession: Because I was too stuck up. There, I said it. I don’t know what made me realize I’d been…you know…when it came to clothes and stuff, but maybe it was seeing boys like Oliver getting the shit kicked out of them just because they thought boys were hot. It kind of put things in perspective, you know? It kind of made me realize that being worried about labels on clothing was just a little bit stupid. Now, I’m not knocking the stuff from A&F and those other places; it’s good stuff, but thinking I’d rather die than wear a shirt bought at Wal-Mart was just dumb. I still planned to wear my A&F stuff. I had a whole closet full of it, after all, and I’d sure paid plenty for it (although a lot of it came from eBay, but don’t tell anyone). The next time I needed some new clothes, though, I was going to at least look in Wal-Mart and those other places. I wanted to be the best me I could be, and I’d realized that despite what they say, clothes don’t make the man. What the man thinks and how the man acts makes the man. I was beginning to realize I needed to make a lot of changes in myself, but I didn’t need to do it all at once. I was going to take it one step at a time. After all, that’s how I’d got my bod—one workout at a time. Okay, enough of this shit for now. I walked past Ofarim’s, and The Park’s Edge, and then The Paramount. I’d watched a ton of movies in The Paramount. I loved that old theatre. It was all old-fashioned and fancy. It was kind of rundown, too, but who cared? It would be a cool place to take a date—a real date—a boy.

Mark A. Roeder

219

I stopped. I hadn’t really thought of that before, going on a date with a guy, that is. I’d been thinking about sex, lots of sex, but not the other stuff. It had been cool just talking to Sean and Nick, so maybe the nonsexual parts of dating might be cool, too. It would at least be worth a try. At the moment, however, I just wanted sex. I needed sex! I walked on and kept looking. I saw a couple of likely looking candidates, but they didn’t pay me much attention so I assumed they were straight. What a waste—cute straight boys. I kind of liked being on the prowl. I liked the sexual tension and the feeling of being on the hunt. I felt like I was a lion or a tiger or something stalking its prey. Of course, if I found a boy, I wasn’t going to rip him to shreds and eat him. I was going to make his eyes roll back in his head with pleasure. I looked across the street and my eyes met Taylor’s. He was standing at the edge of the park. I stopped, turned and walked toward him. He was dressed in light-blue jeans and a V.H.S. soccer jersey. I didn’t stop to think at the moment how that was odd. V.H.S. wasn’t that big, and I knew I’d never once seen him at school—or had I? Like I said, I didn’t think about that just then; that came later. At that moment I was drawn by his beauty. I also wondered if there was a boy in trouble somewhere. Taylor usually came to me just before something bad went down. I’d recognized Taylor’s good looks on previous occasions, but my new comfort with my gayness gave greater meaning to my perceptions. Taylor was no longer just another guy; he was a potential conquest. Of course, he’d never quite been just another guy. There was something mysterious about him, like the way he always seemed to appear out of nothingness and disappear just the same. I’d never actually seen him come or go. He had an uncanny ability to slip up on me and then disappear when I wasn’t looking. As I drew closer I ran my eyes over Taylor’s body. He didn’t possess bulging muscles, but he looked firm and toned—nicely muscled, yes, but not bulky in the least. He looked slim and powerful, elegant and beautiful. I looked at his red lips and wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Perhaps I’d find out. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” I said and then froze. His eyes were peering into mine. Were they blue or green? I felt as if he were looking right through me. No, not through me, into me, as if he could read my mind, as if he could peer right into my very soul. He spoke only moments after I did, but those moments seemed an eternity. “You’ve had a lot on your mind,” he said, as if that were the reason for his absence—or did he mean something else entirely?

Mark A. Roeder

220

“I guess you’ve heard, but of course you have. Everyone’s heard the big news, Skye is queer. But then you knew that already, didn’t you?” Taylor didn’t answer. I stood before him spellbound. He didn’t have nearly as much muscle as I did, but he was so beautiful. I was seeing something in him I’d never seen before. To me, strength had always equaled beauty. There was no doubt Taylor was strong, but I could’ve out-lifted and out-fought him with ease. He was beautiful anyway. More beautiful than I was. More beautiful than anyone else. I leaned in to kiss him. I had to, that’s all there was to it. I had to feel his lips against my own. I had to taste him. Taylor stopped me by putting his hand on my chest. “Why?” I asked. “I’m spoken for.” “You are gay?” I asked, although it was more statement than question—somehow I knew. “You could say that, but I’m taken.” “Damn it! This has not been a good day!” I forced myself to calm down. “Listen, Taylor, I don’t know what this boyfriend of yours is like, but I have a lot to offer. I’m just learning the ropes, but I know I could be the best boyfriend ever. If you’d just give me a chance…” “You do have a lot to learn,” said Taylor, “but you’re not ready to be anyone’s boyfriend. Your thoughts are far too clouded with lust.” “What’s wrong with that?” “Attraction is a natural thing and there is nothing wrong in it, but you think only in physical terms. Well, not only, but mostly. You have yet to learn that physical attraction and sex are only a very small part of a relationship.” “But I need sex!” “I know,” said Taylor, suppressing a laugh. “I’m sorry. A lot of guys like you go crazy with sex when they first realize what they are. They want it now and they want it often, but they’re thinking with the wrong part of their body. You should be listening to your heart instead.” “What makes you such an expert?” I asked quietly. I wanted to yell it and put a “damn” or “fucking” in there somewhere, but I just couldn’t talk to Taylor like that. “One thing at a time,” said Taylor. “Your help is needed.” “You always do this to me!” I said, raising my voice slightly. “Right when I ask you the most important stuff, you send me off to save some boy. Do you stay up nights working on your timing or what? And how do you know all this stuff?

Mark A. Roeder

221

How do you know what’s going to happen when it hasn’t happened yet? You’re driving me crazy!” Taylor grinned and I wanted to hug him. With him I most definitely was NOT the Alpha male. I think he could’ve convinced me to jump off a cliff. I know he could’ve. I also knew he’d never ask such a thing of me. “You need to walk in that direction,” he said, pointing across the park. I knew there was no use arguing. I knew I had to go. It was my destiny if you want to call it that. As I walked away, Taylor called out to me, “Be careful tonight, you should not stay out after sundown.” I turned to ask him what he meant by that, but, of course, he was gone. “How does he do that?” I asked myself out loud, exasperated. I kept walking in the direction I’d been pointed because I knew I’d find something there, or rather someone who needed my help. I didn’t have my mask in my pocket, but I didn’t need it anymore. I was never going to hide again. I found a simple task awaiting me. One I could’ve accomplished with much less than half my strength. Three little jocks, probably around twelve years old, were giving a fourth boy a hard time. No punches had been thrown, yet, but as I neared I heard “faggot,” “queer,” and “butt-boy” quite clearly enough. The boy on the receiving end was facing me. The others were not. I crossed my arms and spoke. “One thing you should know about queers is that we stick together.” I flexed my forearms as the boys turned around. “Shit,” said one of the little bullies. I knew he recognized me. Fame had its uses. “I don’t want to hear you guys say ‘faggot’ again. It’s not a cool name to call anyone.” I turned my attention to the kid getting picked on. “What’s your name?” “Dustin.” “Nice to meet you, Dustin.” “Hey,” he said, smiling awkwardly. “Now,” I said, turning my attention back to the three, “why are you giving Dustin a hard time?” “Because he’s…because we found out he’s…” “Gay?” I asked. The boy nodded. “And why do you have such a problem with that?” “I dunno. It’s just…I dunno.”

Mark A. Roeder

222

“Stupid,” I said. “It’s just stupid. Has Dustin done something bad to you?” All three shook their heads. “So you’re just picking on him because he’s different?” “Yeah,” one of the three quietly admitted. “Maybe you should be glad he’s different. You ever stop to think that because he’s gay you won’t have to compete with him for girls? Huh? From the looks of you three, you need all the help you can get. You should be thankful he’s gay.” Dustin smiled. “But instead,” I continued, “you pick on him and call him names. You’re bullies. I don’t like bullies.” My last sentence was practically a snarl. The three boys involuntarily took a step back. “You can relax. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not a bully and you’d better be thankful, but what I am is pissed off!” I yelled the last bit and all three jumped. I reached in my pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. “Anyone got a pen?” One of the three came up with one. “Thanks.” I scribbled on the paper and then handed back the pen. I passed the paper to Dustin. “That’s my phone number and e-mail address. These guys give you any more shit you let me know and I’ll show them the error of their ways.” Dustin looked like he’d just received an autograph from his favorite rock star. “If you guys knock off the crap you’ll have no trouble from me,” I said, looking back at the three who were huddled tightly together, “but if Dustin here tells me you’ve been giving him a hard time, I’ll give you a hard time. Understand?” They all nodded. Little kids were so easy to intimidate. It was kinda cool I didn’t have to smack them to make my point. “So Dustin, you want me to take you somewhere, or will you be all right here?” “I’ll be fine here, Skye.” “Okay then, you call me if you need me, or just want to talk.” I winked at him, turned and walked away without looking back. I was right. I didn’t need the mask anymore.

Oliver

Ken smiled at me. How could such a cute boy be a ghost? Here he was, standing before me in the full light of day, looking as real as any boy. Ken a ghost? The idea was just plain crazy. When Marshall and the others discussed the possibility with me, it seemed to make some sense, but now that he was with me again, I felt as it the whole idea was just nonsense. Of course, I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted Ken to be real, to be my boyfriend. Ken glanced around, then kissed me. His lips were soft and warm. He deepened the kiss and his tongue felt silky and sexy. All I’d heard of ghosts was how rooms went cold when they entered, how they were misty and transparent. It made the idea of Ken as a ghost ridiculous. Still, coincidences were piling up and there was the disturbing likeness of my Ken to the dead boy of the same name. What if it was true? I shuddered slightly. “What’s wrong?” asked Ken. “It’s…” How could I tell him? I thought I should just dump the whole idea of testing Ken, but then what would I say to Marshall and Sean? “Let’s walk,” I said. We strolled down the sidewalk in the crisp December air. Christmas was near and a blanket of snow lay on the ground. I gazed at Ken in his green sweater with white reindeer. His cheeks were reddened by the cold. “This is going to sound so crazy,” I began. Ken peered at me, but said nothing. “There are some things I’ve been wondering about you…like how you won’t tell me where you live, why you won’t give me your phone number or e-mail

- 223 -

Mark A. Roeder

224

address, and…why no one else seems to see you…” My voice trailed off. I took a deep breath. “I mentioned you to some friends of mine—Sean and Nick, you know them from the youth-group meetings, right?” “I’ve seen them there.” “Well, they haven’t seen you—not once. They also showed me an old newspaper clipping from last spring. There was a boy who was murdered, Ken Clark, and he looks exactly like you.” Ken took a breath. He looked as if all his thought was turned inward. “They…Sean and Nick and Marshall, that is, think you are Ken Clark, the dead Ken Clark.” I locked my eyes on Ken’s. Was he going to think I was a complete mental case? “Do they, now?” I nodded. “They wanted me to test you.” “How?” “By making sure others can see you.” “I see. So you want to do this…test?” “I don’t…I…I don’t care about that. I just want you to tell me who you are and where you live. I want your phone number so I can call you. We’re boyfriends, right? I should at least be able to call you.” Ken looked thoughtful once more. “I wish they hadn’t interfered,” he said. Was there a touch of anger in his voice? He was beginning to scare me. “But, it’s crazy right? The whole idea of you being some dead boy.” Ken gazed into my eyes. “It’s not crazy,” he said. I could feel the color drain from my face. “What are you saying?” “I never meant for you to know,” said Ken. “I don’t know why they had to interfere. Don’t they realize we’re on the same team?” I was completely lost. It was all so unreal. “You’re telling me you are a ghost?” I asked, laughing nervously. “Yes,” said Ken, so coolly and calmly. “That’s not funny!” I said. “What is this, some little practical joke you’ve all set up? Did you guys find out about your resemblance to Ken Clark and think it would be funny to mess with the fat boy? Or was that clipping faked somehow?” “It’s not a joke and nothing is fake here,” said Ken. He took my hand. “Listen, Oliver, I never wanted to hurt you…”

Mark A. Roeder

225

My eyes filled with tears. “What have you been doing to me?” I asked. “I thought you cared about me. I thought you loved me.” “I do.” I jerked my hand away. “You have a funny way of showing it! If you weren’t interested in me, why didn’t you just say so? Why pretend and then do…this! It’s cruel!” I began to cry. “Oliver, listen to me. I do love you. None of this has been done to hurt you. I would’ve told you eventually, but I couldn’t until…you were ready.” I could feel my face darken with anger. I’d had enough of this game. “Just leave me alone!” I said. I turned my back on Ken and started to walk away. He grabbed my shoulder and made me face him again. He peered into my eyes. I felt as if he were communicating silently with me. It was as if he was saying, “I’ll show you.” As I stood there face to face with him, his hand still on my shoulder, Ken dissolved before my eyes. He faded into a mist and then he simply wasn’t there at all. I sank to my knees and grabbed my head in my hands. I felt like I was going to pass out. “Now do you believe me?” asked Ken. I looked up and there he was, as solid and real as ever. He took my hand, pulled me to my feet and hugged me. Tears were streaming down my cheeks. “So none of this was real?” I asked. “It’s all real, Oliver, I’m just not quite as I seemed. I care about you. I love you.” I was overwhelmed and confused. Who wouldn’t have been? It was all too unreal. “I didn’t lie about my feelings for you, Oliver. I lied about who I was, or rather just didn’t tell you the whole truth, but would you have believed me if I did?” I shook my head. “Of course not. You would’ve thought I was crazy. You would’ve turned to Clay, and that’s the very thing I’m here to prevent.” “Huh?” Ken took my hands in his. “You’re freezing. Let’s get something to warm you up.” We were near Ofarim’s. I didn’t argue as Ken led me inside. My head was so full I thought it would explode. “Well, hello there, Oliver,” said Sandy. “Come in for more hot chocolate?” I nodded and smiled weakly at her.

Mark A. Roeder

226

“Coming right up.” I looked at Ken beside me. Sandy had taken no notice of him whatsoever. “She can’t see me, or hear me, unless I want her to,” said Ken. “Marshall said the more people a ghost appears to, the more energy it takes, but I don’t see how that makes sense,” I said quietly. “It’s…complicated, but true,” said Ken. “What’s that?” asked Sandy, as she was filling a Styrofoam cup. I gazed at Ken again. She really didn’t know he was there. “Oh, just thinking out loud,” I said. “I do that a lot myself,” she said, smiling. Ken made wild and crazy faces at Sandy. He got right in front of her, rolled his eyes, and stuck out his tongue. She didn’t react. Ken looked at me and laughed. I had to fight back my own laughter. I felt as if a weight was lifted from my shoulders. “Thanks,” I said, as I paid her and wrapped my hands around the cup. The warmth seeped into my fingers. We left Ofarim’s behind, with its paper Christmas decorations and brightly lit tree. I held my hot chocolate under my nose and took a whiff. Mmmm. I tasted it. The warmth alone was soothing and the taste was delicious. I still couldn’t believe it was diet, but walking next to a ghost I guess I should’ve been able to believe just about anything. “Since I’ve been unmasked,” said Ken, “it’s time to tell you everything. I think you’ll feel much better about the situation if I do, although some of it you won’t like to hear.” That last bit made me nervous and uncomfortable. I took another sip of chocolate to calm myself. “I’m here for a reason,” said Ken. “I’m here to protect you and prevent you from making a terrible mistake.” “Are you an angel?” I asked. “No, although perhaps I could be called an apprentice angel,” he said, smiling. He looked angelic just then. I nodded, taking what he said on faith. What else was I gonna do? I was in fantasyland. “I’ve been trying to keep you away from the gay-youth meetings for a reason.” “What could possibly be bad about me going to those meetings? Everyone is so nice there. I miss going.” “It’s not the meetings. It’s someone at the meetings.” Ken gazed into my eyes for a good long time.

Mark A. Roeder

227

“Clay?” I asked. It didn’t make sense to me, but that’s what I felt Ken was communicating to me with his look. He nodded. “He’s not what he seems,” said Ken. “Are you telling me he’s a ghost, too?” “No. He’s quite alive and I think you’ll find the living far more dangerous than the dead. He is not what he appears to be, although perhaps I should just say his intentions aren’t as kind as they appear.” “I don’t understand.” “Of course not. He’s clever, that one, but I’ve been watching. What do you know about the murders that occurred here in Verona last spring?” “Not much, but that…you and two other boys were murdered. I think Sean said they got the guys who did it.” It was totally freaky speaking to Ken about his own demise. “Not everyone involved was apprehended.” Ken stared into my eyes again. I felt as if I knew what he was saying without words, but I couldn’t believe it. There was no way it was true, if he was thinking what I thought. “Clay,” said Ken, as if reading my thoughts. Perhaps he could. Who knew with a ghost? “Clay? No. He wouldn’t! He couldn’t!” “I saw him,” said Ken flatly. “He was there when I was killed.” “He murdered you?” “He didn’t deal the final blow that killed me, no, but he did his share and when he was done, he stood back and watched his buddies finish me off.” I swallowed. It was too horrible to be true, but how could I doubt it? Ken had witnessed his own murder; of course he had. He’d seen Clay there. What more damning evidence could there be? “Clay has been biding his time, but he’s not to be trusted. The others involved are either dead or behind bars awaiting trial. He’s alone, but he’s a killer and he’s just waiting for his chance to strike again.” “But he’s so…nice!” “That’s what I thought, too,” said Ken sadly. “He made me…” He paused, was he going to cry? Could ghosts cry? “He made me believe he loved me.” The pain on Ken’s face was intense. Even death had not lessened it. I could understand as I felt something of it myself. I’d long had a crush on Clay. I grasped at every little bit of attention he threw my way. I thought he liked me. Was it all a lie?

Mark A. Roeder

228

“I need to go,” said Ken. “This has been exhausting. Promise me you’ll keep your distance from Clay. He’s dangerous, Oliver. Stay away from him. I’m afraid he’ll try to hurt you.” “I promise,” I said. I was reeling with all I’d discovered. Finding out Ken was a ghost was enough shock for anyone, but all the rest…I never dreamed it. Ken wearily smiled at me. He did look extremely tired. “I’ll come to you again, Oliver. I hope you can forgive me for my dishonesty, but I did it for your own good. I did it for you.” I nodded. Ken disappeared right before my eyes. It wasn’t late, but I was tired, yet I knew I couldn’t sleep. The night had been far too much. It was all so unbelievable. I wasn’t entirely sure I wasn’t imagining it all, but if I was, I was truly crazy, so maybe it didn’t matter. I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t feel like being alone in my room. I needed some distraction. I needed something normal. I headed back toward Ofarim’s. I was in need of another hot chocolate. At the very least, Sandy would be there. I needed some company. It was all so insane. Who would’ve guessed that looking for a boyfriend would lead to all this?

Skye

Why was it that Taylor never showed up after I’d saved someone? At most, he showed up a few minutes before, and I do mean a few. There was never time to ask him what I wanted to ask, never time to get to know him. I had a sneaking suspicion he did it on purpose. It was bad enough before I was aware of my sexual orientation, but now, well, Taylor was a babe! Hell, he’s the one who told me I was gay. He was the one who got me to thinking about it. I might’ve gone on in ignorance for who knows how long if it weren’t for him. I didn’t know whether or not that was a good thing. I was glad I knew now, but I don’t think I would’ve wanted to know much sooner. I think it would’ve freaked me out. In that, at least, Taylor had excellent timing. Now, why the hell wasn’t he around when I wanted him? He always appeared, told me where to go and then disappeared— wham, bam, thank you, Skye. Well, that wasn’t even right. Taylor was never around to say thank you. I couldn’t get him out of my mind. God, he was beautiful, simply gorgeous. I’d never given his type that much consideration before. Taylor was a pretty boy. I’d never paid much attention to pretty boys. They didn’t have bulging muscles; they just had looks. Taylor was way more than that, however. How did he manage to look so sexy without even trying? I knew he wasn’t trying, yet I wanted to rip all his clothes off and ravish him, or have him ravish me—anything so long as I got to do it with him! He was driving me out of my mind. He sure wasn’t eager, however. He’d stopped me from kissing him and said he was taken. His boyfriend couldn’t be as hot as me, unless he was another Taylor, and how could there be two? There was no guy like that around. Taylor was one - 229 -

Mark A. Roeder

230

of a kind. So why didn’t he want me? He was gay. He said so himself. I had to have him. There had to be a way. I wished I knew where he lived. Maybe I could ask for a phone number or e-mail address or something next time. If I could just get him talking, then maybe I’d have a chance with him. Wanting him and not being able to have him just made me want him more. It was a vicious cycle. The mystery that surrounded him made him all the more appealing. I knew his name and that he was gay and taken: That was it. I wanted to know so much more, but how could I find out when I couldn’t even call him? This is torment Skye day, isn’t it? I thought to myself. First, I get all worked up over Scott and he won’t let me touch him; then I go looking and don’t find a boy, and finally Taylor gets me hot and won’t let me near! I truly felt like I was gonna explode. I kept walking around town hoping to catch sight of Taylor again. I had no luck there, of course. Even if I had seen him again, he’d have just sent me off somewhere a minute and a half after he appeared. My path crossed that of a few good looking guys, though, but none of them looked interested. At least, I guessed not. I didn’t really know what to look for. How do you know when a guy is hot for you? I didn’t want to just go around and start hitting on guys at random. I had no fear of getting a fist in the face for it, but I also didn’t want guys saying I’d hit on ’em and they’d turned me down. That would not have been good for my reputation, especially the rejection part. Where were all these gay boys who were supposedly hot for me? Were they just not out on a Sunday, or were they too afraid to approach me? It’s too bad I couldn’t put an ad in the school newspaper that said something like, “If you’re gay and good looking, don’t be afraid to hit on Skye. You just might get lucky.” I wanted to get lucky. I wanted it bad. I wondered where Jarret was. Now, he was hot! He was acting so freaky about the whole thing I doubted I’d be able to get into his pants again anytime soon. I was momentarily tempted to call him, but no, it was better to let that be for a while. I would wait until he chilled out, and then I’d try to nail him again. Sex with Jarret was so fine. I walked around so long the sky darkened. I should’ve known I wouldn’t find any action in a small town. Sean and Nick were sure lucky they’d found each other. I wondered how that’d happened. I guess it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t help me. I needed to find my own boy—and soon! My stomach rumbled, and I realized it was past time for supper. I headed for Ofarim’s. A cheeseburger and fries wouldn’t ruin my bod, at least not this once.

Mark A. Roeder

231

Inside, I found Scott sitting in a booth with Oliver, laughing and talking. It was an odd sight as I didn’t know they knew each other. A ridiculous thought flashed in my mind. Scott was bi. Oliver was gay. Was there something going on between them? The thought was ridiculous because Scott was a jock and Oliver was—well, I’m not sure what he was, other than a Harry Potter look-alike. There’s no way Scott could be interested in him. Oliver had a lot going for him, and I’d come to consider him my friend, but sleep with him? No way. “Dude,” said Scott when he saw me. “Hey, Skye,” said Oliver. “Mind if I join you?” I asked. Oliver slid over and I sat beside him. If felt good to get off my feet. “What are you guys doing together?” I asked. “Is there a law against it?” asked Scott earnestly, as if he thought it was a possibility. “No. I just didn’t know you guys knew each other.” “Well,” said Scott, looking around to make sure no one was listening—a useless gesture since we were the only customers—“we’ve been keeping it under wraps, but…Oliver is my boyfriend.” My mouth dropped open in shock. Oliver choked on his hot chocolate. Scott laughed his ass off. “You believed me!” said Scott loudly, still laughing at my expense. “I can’t believe it! You believed me!” I turned to Oliver and smacked him on the back a few times because he was still choking. He was beginning to laugh as well. “You’re so gullible,” said Scott. “And you’re so funny!” I said. I wasn’t mad, but I did feel a bit stupid, which I didn’t overly enjoy. Sandy, the owner, came and took my order. I didn’t know if I could wait until my cheeseburger and fries were done. “Okay, funny man,” I said when Sandy had gone, “what’s up with you two?” Scott managed to get himself under control. “I came in for something to eat, and Oliver was sitting here having a hot chocolate. I knew you guys worked together, so I sat down and we started talking. Pretty mysterious, huh?” “Shut up.” I turned to Oliver. “This is what I call my best friend—pretty pathetic, huh?” “He’s pretty cool, for a jock,” said Oliver. There was a bit of a smile on his lips that indicated the jock dig was a joke. It was kind of cool to see Oliver loosening up a bit.

Mark A. Roeder

232

“Shut up, Harry,” said Scott, but there was no menace in his voice. Oliver laughed. “Hey, maybe you guys can help me out,” I said. “Have you seen a really good looking guy around here with long blond hair, about our age?” “Nope,” said Scott. Oliver just shook his head. “Damn it, I’m beginning to think I’m the only one who has ever seen him.” Oliver got a really strange look on his face. “Uh oh,” said Scott. “Maybe you’re losing it, Skye. Tell me…have you seen any elves or leprechauns recently?” I rolled my eyes and looked to Oliver for help. “How about pixies?” asked Scott. “Or fairies?” “I’m seein’ a fairy right now,” I said, staring at him. Oliver snorted, nearly choking on his drink again. “Yeah, well, I’m seein’ one too,” said Scott, as he dug his spoon into his banana split. Damn that thing looked good. I hoped my food arrived soon. “You guys keep your eyes out. I want to know if you see him.” “Okay,” they both said. “So,” said Scott, “what’s up with this blond dude? You hot for him there, Skye?” “Hell, yeah, but there’s more to it than that. I never told you guys this, but…” I filled them in on how Taylor often appeared and pointed me in the direction of trouble and how he seemed to come and go out of nowhere. I also described what he looked like in detail. “Damn, I’d like to meet him myself. He sounds like a hottie,” said Scott. Oliver didn’t seem surprised at all by Scott’s remark. Had Scott told him, or had Oliver merely figured out Scott liked boys from our conversation? Come to think of it, how did Scott know Oliver was queer? I guess it didn’t matter. I found it kind of interesting that Oliver didn’t look at Scott with any discernible desire in his eyes. I’d never seen him looking at any guy like that. He was timid, but it wasn’t courage that created that look; it was desire and lust. Oliver didn’t seem to have any. At fourteen, surely he’d gone through puberty. He was very boyish, from his build to his voice, so maybe not. I guess it didn’t matter, and it wasn’t my business anyway. I sure couldn’t keep the look of desire out of my eyes. I had to fight myself to keep from gazing at Scott like he was a juicy steak. I still had hopes he would be willing to fool around sometime, but now was not the time to press it. I’d tried and failed only a few hours before. I sure as hell needed to find someone. As soon

Mark A. Roeder

233

as I had supper, I was going to hit the pavement again in hopes of crossing the path of a cute gay boy. Sandy brought my cheeseburger and fries, and I sat about devouring them as we talked. Why did food taste so much better when you were really hungry? ✶

✶

✶

✶

By eleven p.m. I was ready to hang it up. Walking around Verona hoping to run into a gay boy wasn’t a good idea, or at least it wasn’t a productive one. There had to be a better way. Maybe I was just trying to push things too fast. My gayness felt like a new toy. It was kind of like when I got the Skyemobile. I couldn’t wait to get out and drive it. I ran errands for Janelle, drove friends around, did anything and everything. Sometimes I just drove somewhere for the hell of it. I felt like I’d just discovered guys and I wanted to get out there and drive, so to speak. The desire for it consumed me. I yearned for it as I sometimes yearned for a workout. I needed it, but I wasn’t getting it. It sucked that Jarret was being such a stick in the mud—experimenting, my ass! I walked to the high school and then to the football field. I sat on the bleachers, leaning back to look at the stars. It was time to go home. I’d given it my best shot…and failed. I guess it wasn’t a total failure. At least I now knew that cruising Verona for action was a colossal waste of time. What the fuck? I thought as five figures approached in the darkness. It would’ve been hard to see them in the dim light, but each was wearing a white hood that stood out in the moonlight. Each hood was surprisingly similar to the ones I’d seen in photographs of the Ku Klux Klan. It freaked me out. This can’t be good, I thought. I stood. The figures drew nearer. “Fags aren’t welcome here.” My suspicions were confirmed. Did I recognize the voice? I wasn’t sure. I was too busy planning my defense. I didn’t have long. All five rushed me at once. I doubled one over with a punch to the gut and then someone got me in the face and my head snapped back. It hurt, but I pushed the pain aside. There would be plenty of time to experience it later. Instead, I kicked out blindly and caught someone on the leg. I heard a satisfying groan and a body falling to the ground. It was all pretty confusing after that—a mass of flying fists, which unfortunately were mainly hitting me. I fought dirty. I kicked, I yanked hair, and I went for the nuts whenever I could. I disabled one of my attackers with a good swift

Mark A. Roeder

234

kick to the nads. He went down groaning in pain. I punched another in the basket when he was fool enough to stand over me after I’d been knocked to the ground. That’s when it went bad for me—when they got me on the ground. Gravity became my enemy. Someone dropped on my chest and started slugging me in the face repeatedly. A couple more grabbed my arms and held me down. I was fucked. They beat the shit out of me. “Leave the wrestling team, faggot, or you’ll be getting plenty more of this, only worse. This is just a warning.” This was a warning? I was in so much pain I wanted to die to escape it. I didn’t recognize the voice. I had to know who’d jumped me. “We don’t want no faggots around here, and we don’t want you spreading ideas about fags being okay. They’re not! They’re fuckin’ scum!” I struggled, but I couldn’t break the hold they had on me. I have to admit I was scared. Two of my attackers were still disabled by pain, but the remaining three had me pinned down. I knew they could fuck me up even worse than they already had if they wanted. As it was, I’d felt like I’d been fucked up pretty bad. My stomach ached, my mouth was bleeding, and I felt like I’d been pummeled all over with hail the size of baseballs. “You keep your tail between your legs, queer, and stop acting so high and mighty. You’re not. You’re finished here. We’ll make sure of that. You start doing what you’re told or you’re dead. Tomorrow, you quit the team, and then we’ll tell you the next step.” I wanted to tell him how they could all go fuck themselves, but it definitely wasn’t the time. The one on my chest began to rise up. I took my chance. I used all the power I could muster to break my arms free and I grabbed his leg and twisted. He fell and I slugged him in the face, but the others were on me in a flash. There was another mass of flying fists and again, most of them were hitting me, but I got in some good punches. The blows kept falling and a few moments later my attackers left me moaning and writhing on the ground. My efforts hadn’t accomplished anything. I stayed down. I couldn’t take all five of them. “Come on, let’s go,” said one of them. I fought to recognize the voice, but my head was swimming. Each of them gave me a parting kick and then walked away. I couldn’t remember being in so much pain. The last kicked me hard in the side and leaned over me laughing. The agony and humiliation infuriated me. I lunged up and

Mark A. Roeder

235

grabbed his hood. I was determined to discover the identity of at least one of my attackers. He struggled, but I managed to pull it off. “Ben Tyler,” I said through gritted teeth. There was fear in Ben’s eyes, but he spat at me, kicked me hard once more and quickly slipped on his hood. He left me lying there alone, swimming in pain. Was it fear of me I’d seen in his eyes or fear his buddies would find out I’d unmasked him? I lay there thinking about it until I could pull myself up and hobble towards my car. “What happened to you?” asked Janelle as I walked in the door. “I thought I’d see how it felt to slam my face into a telephone pole repeatedly,” I said. “I got jumped by five assholes.” Janelle helped fix me up and the iodine stung like hell. The wet washcloth wrapped around a bag of ice helped, though. I pulled off my clothes and climbed into bed. I knew I was going to be sore in the morning. I was already a bit stiff in my movements. Now what I am gonna do? I thought as I lay there. I was pissed off, but I was also scared. Yeah, me, the Alpha male, was scared. Some of the Betas had risen against me and had done a pretty fair job of it. I realized I could’ve ended up like those boys who were beaten to death not so long ago, like that Ken we’d been talking about. I’d even received a death threat. I guess I could add that to my list of life experiences. I felt just awful, like every muscle in my body was aching, and to top it all off, I still felt like I was ready to bust a nut. At least I could take care of that. They hadn’t worked me over so badly I couldn’t jerk off. A few minutes later I’d relieved the tension. I should’ve done that right after Scott left and I could’ve saved myself a lot of trouble—and pain. Of course, those fuckers with the pillowcases on their heads would probably have got me sooner or later. They’d obviously been planning it. I doubted they just all happened to show up on the football field at the same time as me, dressed like the Ku Klux Klan. I guess at least one of them had been following me. I was angry and afraid, but the anger was winning out. I’d just experienced the worst beating in my life, but things weren’t going to go the way those fuckers had planned. The Alpha male didn’t give up that easily. I was gonna rewrite the script and I knew just where to start—with Ben.

Mark A. Roeder

✶

✶

✶

236

✶

When I walked into school the next morning, the first thing I did was quit the wrestling team. Yeah, right! Haven’t you been paying attention? I really would die before I did that. It was not an option. The humiliation of knowing five hooded fuckers had forced me out would be far worse than death. Even before I got into school, kids were asking me about my face. I had a black eye and several bruises varying in shade from purple to black. I told the truth when asked, an edited truth—five guys jumped me. I didn’t say who. When asked, I just said I didn’t know, which was the truth for four out of the five. Soon, I’d know all the names. Ben was the key. I was going to get him alone, and when I did he’d talk. He’d either name names or I’d show him what pain was all about. I was right about being sore. It hurt to move. Not even my most intense workouts had ever left me feeling like this. I had a tendency to limp, but I fought it. My unknown attackers were probably watching me and I didn’t want to give them satisfaction. At the beginning of wrestling practice, I cornered Ben in the locker room. “I want to see you after school,” I told him. “No way, man!” I couldn’t grab him there in the locker room to “persuade” him, even though the other guys had already gone out. What a pity. “The sooner we do this, the easier it will be for you.” Ben’s eyes were filled with terror. Yeah, asshole, you’re real sorry now, aren’t you? “I can’t. They’ll…” “Do you really think they can do anything worse to you than I can, Ben?” “You’re finished,” he told me. “You’d better do what they said. There’s just one of you and five of us.” I was amazed he had the balls to say it to my face. “And just who are they, Ben?” “I won’t tell.” “Oh, you’ll tell. You’ll beg to tell.” I poured on the menace. Fear was my weapon against Ben. “I want their names, Ben. Give me the names and I won’t fuck you up. How’s that for a deal?” He swallowed hard and hurried out to the gym. I decided to give him all the way through practice to think on it, then, at the first opportunity, I’d grab him.

Oliver

My boyfriend was a ghost and the boy I had a crush on was a murderer. I sure knew how to pick ’em. I kept expecting to wake up, but if it was all a dream, then it was the longest one ever. Could dreams go on for days and days? As bizarre as my life had become, I knew in my heart it was real. Dreams had a certain feel to them that was missing here. I’d heard truth was stranger than fiction, and, boy, was that true! At least my life wasn’t boring. Before, it’d been mainly school and working at Wahlberg’s, but things had changed. Someone messed Skye up bad, five someones actually. He wouldn’t talk much about it, but he’d been jumped and they beat the crap out of him. It scared me. If it could happen once, it could happen again. I was worried Skye could get hurt even worse. It frightened me for another reason as well. Skye was my protector, the champion of all the gay boys. If the bullies took him out, it would be open season on queers. The most terrible thought running around in my mind was that there might be some connection between Skye’s beating and what Ken had told me. If Clay had been in on the murders, who was to say that others weren’t too? Maybe the authorities hadn’t caught all the people responsible. Maybe the ones who jumped Skye had been in on the murders. He said they were wearing hoods, so who knew who they were? Clay could’ve even been one of ’em. If he was, wasn’t it more likely the other four had been involved in killing those boys? I didn’t want to even think about it, but I had to think about it. Skye’s life might depend on it. It was almost impossible to believe Clay had helped kill someone. I mean, he was so nice. He’d been kind to me, and we’d had so much fun when we went to - 237 -

Mark A. Roeder

238

that convention. I missed him. It’d been hard to keep my distance, like Ken wanted. It had been difficult to stay away from the youth-group meetings, too. Everyone was so cool there. I did as Ken asked, however, because I’d seen his eyes when he’d told me how Clay had hurt him and how he used up people. I had no idea at the time Clay was a murderer, too. I knew Ken was trying to protect me, but I hadn’t suspected for a moment he might be saving my life. Was Clay getting close to me because he meant to kill me? Is that how it’d worked with the other boys? Maybe Clay was the bait. Maybe he lured boys like me into a trap and then the others killed them. Maybe he was like a spy—attending the youth group meetings so he could find out who was gay. It gave him the perfect cover. Who would suspect one of our own? The mere thought was chilling. Of course, I didn’t know anything for sure, except he’d been in on the murders in the spring and that was enough. This wasn’t just my imagination. The danger was real. I knew Sean and the others would be eager to hear of my discoveries. We met at the Graymoor Mansion after Skye and I closed up Wahlberg’s for the night. Skye didn’t look so good with his face all bruised up. I could just imagine what the rest of his body looked like. I don’t think I could’ve handled being beaten like that. The little taste I’d had of it was more than enough for me. We met in the dining room again around the huge table illuminated only by candlelight. It felt good to be inside. Verona had turned cold. Of course, with Christmas only days away, it was to be expected, as was the blanket of snow that covered everything in white. Even as we gathered, snow was falling from the sky. I was the center of attention, which I kind of liked. I wasn’t used to it, but then again, I wasn’t used to dating a ghost, either. Who was? “So, did he pass or fail the test?” asked Marshall. “I didn’t actually get to that.” Marshall looked extremely disappointed. “I thought you had something earth-shattering to tell us,” he said. “Oh, I do. I didn’t get to the test because there was no need. Ken told me he was a ghost, and then he proved it to me.” A hush fell over the table. Skye looked at me like he thought I might be a candidate for the loony bin. I told them everything, about how Ken was indeed the Ken Clark who had been murdered and how he’d been trying to keep me away from Clay for my own safety. I also told them how he had disappeared before my very eyes. When I finished, Sean was crying. Nick leaned over and pulled him close. I knew Sean’s best friend had been the first one murdered. That had to be tough.

Mark A. Roeder

239

Sean wiped the tears from his eyes. “So Clay was there when Ken was killed?” “Yes, he was one of those who beat him to death.” “No wonder Ken has returned. He has a score to settle,” said Marshall, his eyes shining eerily in the candlelight. “I thought this was all over,” said Sean. “I thought all the murderers were dead or behind bars.” Sean looked frightened and it made me uneasy. “Maybe we should just turn Clay in. That would be safest,” said Nick. “I don’t think so,” said Skye. “What are we going to do? Have Oliver go in and say, ‘Officer, arrest Clay. My dead boyfriend told me he helped murder him?’” “We’ve got to have some concrete evidence,” said Sean. “And how do we get that?” asked Marshall. “Wait until he kills someone else?” “I have an idea,” I said. “It’s just an idea, mind you, but I was thinking before about how Clay was involved in the murders and how Skye was just jumped by those hooded guys. Maybe Clay was one of them.” “It’s possible,” said Skye. “I didn’t get a look at most of them.” “Most?” asked Sean. Skye smiled. “At the end, I managed to pull the hood off one of them, and guess who it was: Ben Tyler.” “Someone needs to have a talk with Ben,” said Sean. “Oh, someone will,” said Skye. “I have plans for Ben. As soon as I get him alone he’ll be naming names. I can promise you that.” “Skye, be careful,” I said. “There’s nothing to keep those guys from coming after you again, and Ben’s one of ’em.” “I’ll be careful. You need to be careful, too. We’ve got to keep you away from Clay. I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.” “I think we’re all going to have to be careful,” said Sean. “I thought the danger had passed. It seems it hasn’t.” “What are you guys talkin’ about? Or should I ask? Is this some kind of private gay get-together?” I turned to see Sean’s cousin at the door “Shut up, Avery, and take a seat,” said Sean. Avery grinned and joined us. “Uh oh, Marshall’s here. Let me guess, a ghost, or is it a vampire or a witch this time?” “I wish you’d get a chance to meet a vampire, Avery,” said Sean. “Properly armed with a cross, of course.”

Mark A. Roeder

240

“Or without,” mumbled Marshall. Sean quickly explained what was going on. “Why did I have to come in here?” asked Avery, exasperated. “I swear, if anything weird is going down in this town it’s always centered right in this house.” “Yeah, but you’re starting to like it,” said Marshall. “Not as much as you, freak boy.” “Back to business,” said Sean. “You’re absolutely sure about Ken, right?” “Absolutely. There’s no doubt he’s a ghost. There’re all the coincidences we discussed before, and real boys can’t disappear before your eyes.” “Good point,” said Sean. “We’ll make you a paranormal researcher yet,” said Marshall. “Stay away from Marshall,” said Avery, “or you’ll become one of him. It’s a fate worse than death.” Marshall sneered at Avery, but I detected no real anger between them. I think Avery and Marshall just liked digging at each other. Kind of like McCoy and Spock on the old Star Trek. “This is one investigation I didn’t want to reopen,” said Sean. “So, what can we do?” asked Skye. “I’ll nail Ben to the wall the first chance I get and see if our buddy Clay was involved, but what else can we do?” “That’s a good start,” said Sean. “If we can prove Clay was involved with jumping you, you can press charges. We can also inform the authorities that we’ve heard he was involved in the murders. It will just be hearsay, but maybe it will be enough to get them digging, or at least get them to keep their eyes open.” “Doesn’t sound like much,” said Skye. “It’s not, but it’s probably the best we can do right now.” Sean didn’t look at all pleased. I had the feeling he would rather be doing almost anything other than dealing with the whole Clay situation. Skye, on the other hand, seemed excited, as if he couldn’t wait to get out there and do something. Of course, Skye thought he was a comic-book superhero. “Let’s get Ken to help us,” said Marshall. “He likely knows some of the things we’re trying to find out, and if he doesn’t, he could find them out more easily. Being naturally invisible does have its perks.” “I’ll see what I can find out the next time I see him,” I said. “But he’s rather unpredictable.” “In the meantime,” said Skye, “I don’t think Oliver should go anywhere alone. I think we all need to watch our backs, but especially Oliver.” I didn’t argue. It was likely I was marked for death by beating, and the idea didn’t appeal to me at all. I kind of wanted to just lock myself in my room.

Mark A. Roeder

241

We talked more, but we were going in circles. It was obvious we could only do so much until we turned up more information. I just hoped that didn’t come at the cost of something particularly nasty happening to someone, especially since that someone would likely be me. One good thing came out of our discussion. I told the others why Ken wanted me to stay away from the youth-group meetings and how much I missed them. Sean didn’t see any reason for me to continue to avoid the meetings. After all, he and Nick would be there. Ethan wouldn’t let anything happen to me either. Now that I knew the danger, it would be safe enough to return. I’d just have to keep my distance from Clay.

Skye

The opportunity to corner Ben didn’t come for days. I saw Ben only in the halls, the locker room and during wrestling practice. I could never catch him alone. Who would’ve thought he’d be so good at evasive maneuvers? My anger grew. On Sunday, I worked out with Scott again, even though I was sore as hell, and then took off for the Selby farm. Nick and Sean had invited me out there so we’d have a place to talk privately. I’d been a lot closer to both boys since Avery introduced us. We talked pretty freely at school. After all, it’s not like we had to be concerned about someone figuring out we were gay. They’d been the only out gay boys at V.H.S. for quite some time, and I’d recently joined them. Still, there were things we didn’t care to share within earshot of others. The directions were easy to follow, and soon the Skyemobile was parked in front of a well-kept, two-story farmhouse. The guys came out to greet me and said lunch was ready. I’d burned through the calories during my workout with Scott and my stomach was rumbling. Nick introduced me to his dad, Nathan. I already knew his other dad, Ethan, of course, since he was my wrestling coach. It was a little weird seeing Coach Selby with his boyfriend—a good weird, but still weird. I knew Coach was gay, but seeing actual evidence of it was quite a different thing. Ethan was incredibly good looking. I’d noticed that before. I think he was built better than I was. Can you believe it? Nathan wasn’t as muscular, but he was in shape. To be honest, both of them kind of turned me on. I’d never thought about older guys, but I wouldn’t have kicked either one of them out of bed. I wondered if they would be interested in a three-way with a younger guy, but I - 242 -

Mark A. Roeder

243

guess the fact Ethan was my coach nixed that. There were probably laws about it or something. Besides, they looked totally into each other. I got that vibe from them almost instantly. The table was set, and everything looked delicious. There were steaks, baked potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes sprinkled with brown sugar, corn, green beans, fresh-baked rolls, iced tea and even apple pie for dessert. I knew I was going to have to do some extra exercising to work off lunch, but it all smelled too good to resist. We dug in. As I scooped mashed sweet potatoes onto my plate, I filled Nick, Sean, Ethan and Nathan in on what had really happened to me on the football field. That’s when the talk got interesting. I hadn’t been the only gay boy harassed at V.H.S. It had happened before—years before. Ethan told me how he received mysterious notes in his locker when he was in school—notes threatening to out him. There was a lot more to his story than that, but that’s the part that stuck in my mind, mainly because it’d given me an idea. I shuddered when he described being attacked on the soccer fields. The guys who jumped Ethan and Nathan weren’t wearing KKK hoods, but the terror of it struck close to home. His situation then was way too close to mine now. I wondered if the world would ever change. I hoped I could do something to change it. Maybe I could be like a gay Batman or something and fight for injustice against gays. I’d been doing that already, but maybe there was more in store for me. We talked and ate and I was at ease. In this place I was accepted. There was no need for muscle flexing or attitude. I could just be plain old Skye. The kitchen was warm and comfy, and a steaming cup of tea warmed me from the inside out. We lingered over our apple pie with vanilla ice cream on top, talking and laughing. By the time we pushed our empty plates away, I was ready to pop. I eagerly accepted the invitation to take a walk with Nick and Sean. I could work off at least a little of the too-large lunch I’d just eaten. The air was freezing, but that was to be expected. Gone were the days of summer when I could walk shirtless in the sun. They would come again, however, and I’d have myself in even better shape than before. Until then, it would feel good to be all bundled up. My sweater and black leather jacket hid my muscles from view, but I luxuriated in the warmth. The snow crunched underfoot as we walked. Our cheeks were reddened by the cold, but none of us cared. I was content to be with Sean and Nick. They were like me, gay, and it was comforting to speak with them away from prying ears—not that our conversation was all about being gay. In fact, where it started couldn’t have been farther away.

Mark A. Roeder

244

Sean told some fantastic tales of ghosts as we walked out through the vast fields, all cleared of crops and covered by snow. If Sean had told me those tales a short time before, I wouldn’t have believed him. I would’ve thought he was lying or just had an overactive imagination. Or maybe, that he’d just spent too much time with Marshall, the occult freak. I listened in fascination as Sean spoke of the ghosts of Graymoor. Some of the ax-murder stuff he described was a bit gruesome, but what good was a haunted house without a good old-fashioned ax murder? It was all the more disturbing because I knew it was real. Sean offered me a tour of Graymoor someday and I accepted. I’d seen some of it on Halloween and the times I’d been there with Oliver, but he assured me there was much, much more. I had no doubt that was true. Oliver had described part of what he’d seen of the house, and it was nearly unbelievable. “Have either of you seen a boy with blond hair around town?” I asked when the talk of ghosts fizzled out. I was continuing in my search for Taylor, determined to find out more about him—specifically where he lived. “Um, me?” asked Nick, fingering his hair. “Not you! His hair is light blond and long—real long. He’s about our age, extremely good looking, kind of athletic, but slim?” “Doesn’t sound familiar,” said Sean. Nick shook his head. “Damn! No one has ever seen this guy except me, at least that’s how I’m beginning to feel.” “Ohh,” said Sean. “He sounds like Oliver’s boyfriend. Maybe you’ve been looking for a ghost.” Sean laughed. “Where did you see him?” asked Nick. “That is the weird part,” I said, and then launched into my tale of how Taylor conveniently showed up to warn me when someone was in danger. I hadn’t gotten far when Sean stopped me. “Taylor, did you say? His name is Taylor?” “Yeah.” Nick and Sean exchanged a significant look. “What?” “I’ll tell you later…maybe, go on.” “Okay,” I said, wondering about their sudden weirdness. I told them everything, even how I had the hots for him. When I’d finished, Nick and Sean kept looking at each other. “Why do you guys keep doing that?” I asked.

Mark A. Roeder

245

“Um, well,” said Sean. “We may have unintentionally lied when we told you we’d never seen the blond boy before. That is, we didn’t realize…um…that you could’ve seen him.” “Huh?” “It’s kind of complicated,” said Sean, “but before, when I was kidding around about your blond boy being like Ken—well, I just thought I was kidding. It’s not exactly the same, but…” “What?” I said, shocked and confused. Nick locked eyes with Sean. “Let’s go back to the house,” he said. “I don’t think we should get into this until we know for sure.” Nick turned to me. “I think there’s something you need to see. It might explain things.” Nick wasn’t making any sense at all; neither of them was. We turned, doubling back on the trail we’d made in the snow. We marched along in silence as cold flakes of the winter sky began to fall once more. Within moments we were swallowed by a cloud of white, swirling snow all about us. I barely noticed. My mind was too full. What were Sean and Nick trying to tell me? Soon, I found myself once again in the kitchen. The scent of our delicious lunch was still in the air. I gratefully accepted a cup of hot blackberry tea. I cradled it in my hands, enjoying the warmth. Our walk had given me a chill, as had our conversation. Sean and I leaned against the counter and sipped tea while Nick left us momentarily. He came back downstairs after a few moments with a photo and handed it to me. “Is that him?” “That’s him!” I said. “Oh my God! How did you get this?” “It’s Dad’s,” said Nick. “Ethan’s.” “Your dad’s?” This was getting weirder. Ethan was connected to Taylor? But how? “Um, so you guys know Taylor?” “I think you’d better sit down,” said Sean. He looked so very serious I did as I was told. “We know him, you could say, but Ethan knows him much better.” “So where’s he from? Where does he live? Do you have his number? I’ve got to find out about him. I can’t get him out of my head. He’s so beautiful. I keep thinking and thinking about him.” Nick and Sean looked at each other again. They seemed almost frightened. “We don’t really know…any of that,” said Nick slowly.

Mark A. Roeder

246

“You know him, but you don’t know where he’s from? You have no idea?” “Well, he was from Verona,” said Nick slowly. “I guess you could say he still is but…” “Why won’t you guys tell me? You have to know.” “Skye, there’s something I have to tell you,” said Sean. He paused so long I thought he’d never continue. “Taylor’s dead.” “Dead?” I asked, my eyes widening, my heart crashing in ruin. “I just saw him a week ago and now he’s dead?” My eyes started to water. “Oh my God, what happened? Was it a car wreck? Was it…” Sean put his hand on my wrist. I was beginning to sob. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Skye, but Taylor was already dead when you saw him last week. He was already dead the first time you met him. He’s been dead since 1980.” “You’re out of your mind,” I said, my tears shocked into non-existence. “No,” said Nick. “He’s telling the truth.” “You’re both crazy!” “Think for a minute, Skye,” said Sean. “Didn’t you say yourself he seemed to just appear and disappear? Didn’t you just tell us a few minutes ago he knew things were going to happen before they happened? Doesn’t it make just a little sense to you? Doesn’t it seem just a little familiar?” I was shaking my head, but it did make a little sense. It was crazy, but after Oliver and Ken…well, I felt like anything could happen. “I think you’d better go get your dad,” said Sean. Nick nodded. Instead of going to get him, he called to him, and Ethan came down the stairs. “Dad…um…Skye’s seen Taylor.” Ethan stared at Nick. “Are you sure?” “Pretty sure.” Was Coach Selby crazy too? I had to explain my meetings with Taylor all over again, although I left out the details about being hot for him. Ethan looked a bit stricken at times, but made no comment. “You say you saw him wearing a soccer jersey?” asked Ethan. “Yes.” He got up and went upstairs for a couple of minutes. He came back down carrying a V.H.S. yearbook from 1980-81. He thumbed through the pages. “Was it this one?” asked Ethan, handing me the book. I looked at the photo and almost dropped the yearbook. Oh my God. It was the same number and everything. Taylor looked exactly as he did when I’d seen

Mark A. Roeder

247

him in it, but this was in a photo that was seventeen years old! My vision went black and I remembered nothing more. ✶

✶

✶

✶

I awakened on the couch in Nick’s living room. I opened my eyes, feeling disoriented, but Nick and Sean were kneeling close to me. “Did I?” “You passed out.” “Shit. Don’t you dare tell anyone.” “Don’t worry about us,” said Sean. “We are the keepers of many secrets.” “Have I been dreaming or…” “You passed out when you saw Taylor’s photo in the yearbook.” I hadn’t been dreaming, but it had to be a dream. Maybe it was. Maybe I was still dreaming. How could Taylor be in a seventeen year old yearbook and look exactly the same now? “This all has to be some kind of weird coincidence, some kind of million-in-one shot, look-alike thing,” I said to the ceiling. “Nope,” said Sean, “it’s real. Just like Ken being a ghost is real. When you’re up for it, Ethan can tell you the whole story—well, most of it anyway, and then we can tell you a few things too.” “I think I’m ready now,” I said. How could I just lie there with something like this hanging over my head? We returned to the kitchen, where Nick made me a cup of strong Famous Edinburgh tea. I’d never tried it before. I’d never been much of a tea drinker, although I’d enjoyed the blackberry tea earlier. In any case, it helped to calm me. Ethan began telling me a story about his friends Taylor and Mark and about himself. I finished one cup of tea, then two, then three. We all had some more apple pie, and still we sat there as Ethan spun his tale. I was mesmerized not only by the events that unfolded, but also for the bits and pieces of Taylor’s personality I recognized. When Ethan told me how they’d found him dead on the soccer field, I cried. The tale went on and finally Sean and Nick took it up, speaking of the murder of Sean’s best friend, Marty, Ken Clark, and Tony Paulik. We were getting into recent history. Those boys had been killed only months before. Sean told of wild, unbelievable supernatural events that had taken place in Graymoor—a séance, a fight with the murderers of his friends and an evil spirit. Well, it would’ve been unbelievable before everything with Ken—and now Taylor. I listened most

Mark A. Roeder

248

intently when he spoke of Taylor and Mark—ghosts. No! Angels. It was too fantastic to believe, yet in my heart I knew it was true. “An angel? Taylor is an angel?” “Yep,” said Sean, as if merely confirming that Taylor played soccer. I looked about, bewildered. “I know it’s a great deal to take in,” said Ethan. “This is something we rarely share, for obvious reasons.” “Because if we did, they might come and haul us all off to the loony bin,” said Nick, grinning. “It’s true nonetheless,” said Ethan. I looked into his eyes. He was a full-grown man—strong, mature, sensible— yet he believed. He’d told me how he’d seen Taylor with his own eyes, how he’d talked to him only a few months before—years and years after his death. The unreality of the situation struck me, but then again nothing before had ever felt this real. It was as if I was on the verge of truly comprehending reality for the first time. “I think I need to go home and think about all this,” I said. “Thank you for…everything.” I felt as if I should say more, but what could I say? My mind was spinning. What I’d just been told took everything I thought I knew and turned it upside down. I felt as if I was on a roller-coaster, careening out of control. I needed to slow my thoughts, sleep if I could and then ponder all that I’d just been told. ✶

✶

✶

✶

I felt as if I wasn’t even in the same world anymore as I drove home. Everything looked the same, but everything was changed. An angel? Taylor was an angel? That wasn’t reality. It was something that could happen in a movie or a book, but not in real life. And yet, there was something about Taylor. I almost felt as if somehow, in my heart, I’d always known. Damn. Did I have a history for falling for unavailable guys or what? First Scott, then Taylor. I’d probably committed a huge sin by lusting after Taylor. If he really was an angel, then thinking the thoughts I’d been thinking about him couldn’t be a good thing. I’d even tried to kiss him. I was probably going to hell for sure. I’d never really believed in hell, but if angels were real who knew what else might be? For all I knew, there really were leprechauns in Ireland and pixies in the woods. I laughed. This was crazy. I wasn’t at all sure I believed what I’d been told. I half expected Nick to call after I got home to tell me it was all an

Mark A. Roeder

249

elaborate practical joke. If so, they’d sure done a good job. The photo I’d been shown was one thing, but the yearbook photo? How in the hell did they manage that? I found myself walking into my bedroom without any memory of how I’d gotten there. Now that was safe driving. I’m glad I didn’t hit anyone. I stretched out and closed my eyes. I’d intended to mull over all I’d been told, but I fell instantly asleep as if worn out from a hard football or wrestling practice. My body had done nothing but sit at the kitchen table with Ethan, Nathan, Nick and Sean for hours, but my mind was exhausted. The next morning I awakened early, a full hour before my alarm clock was set to go off. I wasn’t sleepy. My mind was clear. I couldn’t remember any dreams, but I knew my mind had been sorting things out all night. I walked into the bathroom and showered. I prepared for school as I did every day and then left an hour early. The parking lot was empty when I pulled in—no surprise there. Most of the students arrived just before eight, and it wasn’t quite seven yet. Even the teachers hadn’t come in to work yet. I left my backpack in the car and walked toward the soccer fields. I wanted to check out something Ethan had mentioned. It didn’t take me long to find it—a big boulder. I’d walked by it before, but didn’t pay much attention. I dusted off the snow covering the boulder and there was the plaque, gleaming in the morning sun. This field is dedicated to the memory of Mark Bailey and Taylor Potter. They died here all too early because of hatred and intolerance. May the future learn from what happened and not let it happen again.

Taylor Potter. Was he truly the Taylor I’d met? Could it really be? I would’ve dismissed the entire idea as ludicrous if it weren’t for my heart telling me it was true. I just stared at the inscription for a good long time. I felt like someone I’d known and loved had just died. I gazed toward the football field and thought of Jimmy. I turned and walked back to my car. I saw Coach Brewer’s Chevy pickup in the parking lot, so I knew the gym must be unlocked. I retrieved my backpack and walked in. There it was, the soccer team photo Ethan had told me about. How many times had I walked past it without seeing? There was Taylor, looking exactly as he had the last time I’d seen him. Could it really be true? Had he really died seventeen years ago to come back now and guide me?

Mark A. Roeder

250

Ethan said Taylor had been driven to suicide by abuse, and the inscription on the plaque confirmed it. I felt like a piece of a puzzle had snapped into place. If Taylor had killed himself because he was harassed for being gay, it made perfect sense he’d come back to save others from the same fate. The former was fact, and I was more and more coming to believe that the latter was as well. It was crazy, but true. The next time Taylor crossed my path I was going to ask him flat out. The very first words out of my mouth were gonna be, “Are you an angel?” I laughed out loud. If anyone had any idea what I was thinking just then they would cart me off, convinced I’d gone insane. Who knows, maybe I had? If I was insane, I guess it didn’t matter anyway, so all I could do was go on. I needed a little normalcy. I still had some time to spare, so I got Coach to let me in the weight room and I did some bench presses, butterflies, and curls. It was too soon to be working out again, but I needed to focus on something I could understand. I knew weight-lifting. I could slip into lifting and go through the motions, feeling my muscles tense and flex. It was something substantial, definable and real. By the time the warning bell rang I was pleasantly pumped. I went to my locker and then my first period class. For once, I was glad to be going through the boring routine of school. Like working out, it was familiar and comfortable. I needed that just now. I needed boundaries and certainties, because I felt as if my whole world were spinning out of control.

Oliver

The snow fell from the dark-blue evening sky, adding to the thickness of the fluffy white blanket below. The moonlight created an effect of shimmering sparkles over the white fields and forests beyond. Christmas Eve always seemed magical to me, and it wasn’t just the anticipation of presents the following morning or my stocking that “magically” filled during the night after I’d hung it on the front doorknob. If I had to decide just what made Christmas Eve so special, I don’t think I could narrow it down to one thing. It was presents under the tree, bright colored lights, the scent of Christmas cookies, snow, stores decorated for the season, the scent of pine, hot chocolate, my own eagerness for others to unwrap the presents I’d bought for them and so much more. I hoped I never lost the feeling, even when I got real old, like forty. I hoped I’d be able to enjoy the Christmas season then as much as I did at fourteen. I followed kids I knew across the snow. The gay-youth group Christmas party was being held in Ethan and Nathan’s barn. It seemed far too cold a place for a party—it was below freezing after all—but it was so beautiful. The old barn, with its weathered wood, snow-covered tin roof and bright Christmas lights around the large doorway looked like a painting. The interior was surprisingly warm, although I didn’t notice this at first. My eyes were drawn to a beautifully decorated Christmas tree that must’ve stood over fifteen feet tall. It was covered in multi-colored lights and beautiful glass ornaments, as well as what looked like real Christmas cookies and fruit. There were Christmas lights strung here and there, beautifully illuminating the inside of the

- 251 -

Mark A. Roeder

252

old barn. It was as if the barn was lit by candles that burned in all different colors. The effect was enchanting. The scents were as captivating as the sights. The air was filled with the scent of hay, pine, cookies, freshly baked bread and hot chocolate. I was made instantly hungry, but I kept my distance from the tables laden with food for the time being. Instead, I drank it all in. Kids I knew from the gay-youth center were milling around, as were a lot of older people who I took to be some of their parents. I recognized Coach Brewer from school. He was standing near an extremely attractive blond man I guessed must’ve been his boyfriend. How I knew was simple: I saw Mr. Brewer reach over and brush a stray lock of hair off his boyfriend’s forehead. There was something so caring in that simple gesture, one that spoke volumes. I smiled. I felt safe. This was a place where males could love each other without fear. That went for females, too. I saw some of the girls from the group standing close together, looking nearly as intimate and close as Mr. Brewer and his guy. I heard a soft whinny and wandered across the hay-strewn floor to find two horses in their stalls. Each stall was decorated with a wreath, and the horses were munching on oats. The bleating of sheep called my attention to them. They too were eating sweet smelling hay. Chickens sat near on their nests, apparently undisturbed by the party. In fact, the animals seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. This was a party for them too. Soft Christmas music filled the air, playing under the hushed voices of those chatting. Some kids were slow dancing to it in a large open area, and no one, not even the parents, seemed to mind. I wished I could’ve brought my parents, but they didn’t know about me. It just didn’t seem the right time to tell them yet. I wasn’t going to let that bother me. The magic of Christmas was too strong to let worries in. I grinned when I saw Ken standing on the far side of the barn, gazing at me with his beautiful eyes, now sparkling in the multi-colored lights. I sighed, wishing he was a real boy instead of a ghost, but then he was just as good as real some of the time. I wondered how real he could be for me. Could I really date a spirit? I laughed to myself. I was thinking such outlandish thoughts as if there was nothing unusual in them, when others would have me locked away if they knew what I was thinking. Of course, if they knew what I knew, they would know I didn’t suffer from insanity. It was kind of like Miracle on 34th Street, where that lawyer proved that the guy who thought he was Santa Claus wasn’t crazy because he really was Santa Claus. I wasn’t crazy thinking I was dating a ghost, because I really was dating one. It didn’t matter that almost no one would believe it.

Mark A. Roeder

253

Ken looked so very handsome. He was wearing a Christmas-y sweater, white with little green trees all over it. I wondered if ghosts could appear in any clothing they wished. That would be cool, like being able to go to a store and get anything your heart desired for free. Ken put his arm around me and held me close. Nick looked at me and drew near. “He’s here, isn’t he?” asked Nick. I’d told him Ken was coming. I’d begged to come to the party and Ken agreed I could come only if he was there to guard me. “Yeah,” I said, smiling. “Let me see you,” said Nick. I couldn’t tell anything had happened, but Nick looked to my side, right at Ken. “Whoa,” he said. “Satisfied?” asked Ken. Nick nodded. No more was said, but I could tell from Nick’s eyes that Ken had disappeared once more. He was no doubt saving his energy. I glanced at Ken and his eyes narrowed. At first, I thought he was glaring at Nick, but then I realized he’d caught site of Clay. I felt a chill as he neared. How different it was from the feelings of longing I’d once experienced in his presence. The knowledge I’d so recently gained had changed all that. I could never love a murderer. “Act natural,” said Ken in a voice only I could hear. “Hey,” said Clay, “I’ve haven’t see you in like…forever. Why don’t you come to the meetings anymore?” “I’ve been really busy—work, you know?” “Yeah, I can imagine how that is. I’ve missed you, though, dude. I’ve called your house, but you’re never there.” The truth was I’d told Mom to tell him that if he called. She was clueless, of course, but she did as I asked. “Hey Nick,” said Clay. “Hey.” Nick wasn’t as good as me at pretending everything was cool. He probably couldn’t get past the fact Clay was a murderer and might’ve even helped to kill Sean’s best friend. “Listen,” said Clay, turning back to me. “I’d really like to get together with you sometime. Maybe we could do something like we did before, or…” He took a deep breath. “I’d…really like to go out with you, like on a date.” Clay swallowed. “We could catch a movie or just eat out or whatever.”

Mark A. Roeder

254

It was clear it’d taken a great deal of courage for Clay to speak those words. How long had I dreamed of hearing them? Clay Vanderhausen, the boy of my dreams, was actually asking me out. Who would’ve guessed when it finally happened it would fill me with fear and dread? Sadness plunged into my heart like a dagger. Clay appeared to be fulfilling my dream, but I knew his real intent. He had evil in his heart and that made it all the more painful—to have the deepest desire of my heart turned against me, perverted into something ugly and horrible. I nearly cried. Ken squeezed my hand, giving me courage. How lucky I was to have Ken! If not for him I’d have fallen into Clay’s trap. I’d have happily walked with him to my own death. What a horror that would’ve been. Clay would’ve led me on to who knows where, so that he and maybe his buddies could beat me to death, just like they’d done to Ken. “I…um…” my voice faltered. “I’m not sure. I mean…I’m kind of seeing someone.” I needed practice at thinking up lies on the fly. Clay’s face fell. Had I not known better, I would’ve thought I’d just broken his heart. What I’ve really broken is your plan to kill me, I thought. Sean and Marshall swooped down on us. They’d no doubt seen Clay near me. There was little chance he would try anything in the middle of a crowded party, but I felt much safer surrounded by friends. “Well, I’ll…um…see you around,” said Clay. Were those tears in his eyes? His voice cracked as he spoke the words. What a good actor he was. It made him all the more dangerous. “You’re safe here, Oliver,” said Sean, no doubt noticing how upset I was. Life could be so cruel. Sean looked around me wistfully. I had little doubt he was trying to catch sight of Ken. He’d known him, after all. I knew Sean had to be eager to speak with his old acquaintance, but Ken did not appear to him. He’d taken on the part of watchful protector and became invisible even to me so that he could stay and keep an eye on Clay. I followed Sean, Marshall, and Nick to the food-laden tables. I was still watching my weight and slowly slimming down, but I allowed myself whatever my heart desired during the holidays. Even Skye said he did that. Letting loose now and then made it easier to control myself the rest of the time. I’d never seen so many good things to eat. There were cheese logs surrounded by all kinds of crackers, divinity, fudge, cookies of all descriptions, chocolate cake, party mix with pecans in it, various dips, bologna salad with freshly baked

Mark A. Roeder

255

rolls, puddings, pies, hot chocolate, home-made suckers, mints, candy canes, tiny hotdogs swimming in barbeque sauce, all kinds of things on toothpicks and so much more I couldn’t take it all in. Ethan had told everyone to come to the party hungry, but I had no idea there would be so much food! I didn’t see how I could possibly try everything I wanted. This was as good as Christmas itself! I nibbled at this and that—eating a little of many things, but not too much of anything. I’d had dreams like this. I was in heaven. I talked with lots of people as I explored the snacks and desserts. I had so much fun that I was largely able to put Clay out of my mind, which was no small feat, I assure you. The party went on and on, with games and prizes, and simple companionship. I felt as if I were gaining a sense of comfort that would see me through the difficult times until the next Christmas. I wished every day could be like this one, but if it was, it wouldn’t be nearly as special. No, it was best that such events were rare. It made them all the more enjoyable. I wished Skye had been there, but perhaps he felt uncomfortable because he wasn’t a member of the gay-youth group. I’m sure he would’ve been welcome. There were lots of people there who didn’t come to the meetings—parents, friends, and more. I guess he had his own reasons, however, and I had little doubt Skye was having his own fun. He seemed to have it all together. The party didn’t end until the wee hours of the morning. Sean and Nick saw me safely home, just in case. Ken appeared at the last minute, too. He gave me a hug and kiss and bid me a Merry Christmas. I stumbled to my room, exhaustion falling upon me. I undressed and fell into bed, climbing under the blankets and my flannel sheets. I fell asleep almost immediately while visions of Christmas goodies danced in my head.

Skye

Christmas—I loved it and yet it saddened me. I remembered all the Christmas Days with Mom, Dad and Janelle when I was a kid. Mom and Dad were both gone now. Dad was who knows where with his almost illegal girlfriend, and Mom was off with my former friend, Josh. I almost couldn’t believe he’d been doing my mom right under my nose for so long. Sometimes, I still thought of what it would be like if they’d gotten married. I sure as hell wasn’t calling him “Dad.” I still had Janelle and my nephew, Colin. Most of the time our lives seemed almost entirely separate, even though we lived in the same house. I was forever gone to school, practice or work, and Janelle was gone more often than not. If my sister was out, Colin was at day care or with a babysitter. I sat with him on rare occasions when my schedule allowed it, but that was, like, once a month or whatever. Most of the time, I felt like I lived alone in the house, which was okay by me. I was glad we could all be together at Christmas. Just a few nights before, I’d helped Janelle and Colin decorate the tree. As I lifted Colin so he could place the star on top, I almost felt like he was my kid instead of my sister’s. I loved the little guy and was pleased he looked up to me. He told me often how he wanted to be like me when he grew up. I guess I was kind of a dad to him. I was the only male around so I was the one who taught him how to catch, bait a hook and all that. When he was older, I’d get him into working out so he could be all buff in high school.

- 256 -

Mark A. Roeder

257

I took a swig of Diet Coke. It wasn’t my usual morning drink, but I needed the caffeine. It was 6:30 and I knew Colin would come thundering into the living room to attack his presents soon. I must admit I was rather excited myself, not so much by the presents under the tree for me, but by those I’d bought for Janelle and especially Colin. I plugged in the lights and the tree came to life, none too soon, because, as predicted, Colin came running into the room like a freight train. He was an energetic little guy at all times, but never more so than now. He didn’t see Janelle, so he ran back to her room and dragged her to the tree, Janelle cinching her robe up as she came into the room. “Calm down, Colin,” said Janelle. I sat beside Colin in front of the tree. “This one’s from me,” I said. Colin tore away the red and green stripped paper to reveal a new Lego set. He collected Legos and had a bunch of different sets. It was quite a chore to find one he didn’t have. “Thanks, Skye!” he said, hugging me. I grinned. I loved making him happy. Colin pulled out another gift to himself, marked “From Santa.” He demolished the teddy-bear wrapping to find a remote-control 4x4 truck. “Awesome!” said Colin. I handed Janelle one of the presents I’d purchased for her. She unwrapped it much more calmly than her son. It was a new automatic coffee maker, with a timer. I knew she would like it because the one she had was on the fritz. “Open mine now, Skye!” said Colin. He handed me a gift. “Mom helped me pick it out and wrap it.” There was no doubt of that. It was wrapped too neatly for Colin, that was for sure. I could tell it was some kind of paperback book, which didn’t excite me too much because I wasn’t all that big on reading, but I always appreciated a gift. “Oh cool,” I said as the wrapping came off. It was a fitness magazine I didn’t have. A note attached said I was getting a subscription to it. “Do you like it?” asked Colin. “I love it!” I said and gave him a hug. Colin went instantly back to his presents. Most of them were for him. Janelle didn’t have much money to spare and neither did I, really. We had an unspoken agreement that we bought mainly for Colin. It was way more fun watching him get excited than opening my own gifts anyway. Besides, I got plenty of presents. Janelle made omelets after we’d finished unwrapping gifts. They had plenty of onions, green peppers, and chicken in them. I guess you could call ’em Western

Mark A. Roeder

258

omelets. I put a little hot sauce and Worcestershire sauce on mine—not too much, though. It was a workout day, so I went to my room and hopped on the Bowflex. It always felt good to work my muscles. During those rare times when I had to miss a workout, my muscles cried out for some lifting. I don’t know how to describe it. They didn’t hurt or ache, but they felt like they needed to be stretched and flexed. Maybe I was just addicted to working out, but if so it was a good addiction. I thought about Jimmy for a moment. I wondered how his dad was making it through his first Christmas without his son. Holidays were usually happy times, but they made you think of who wasn’t there. For me it was my parents, but they weren’t dead, just elsewhere. Mr. Kerstadd had it worse. He knew Jimmy was never coming back. I guess I’d just dodged the bullet myself. Maybe nothing would’ve happened if I’d got on the steroids like Jimmy, but then maybe I’d be lying in my coffin too. It was way better to get buff the hard way. Besides, steroids were a cheat. One thing I loved about bodybuilding was that whatever I accomplished was all me. No one else could build muscle for me. It was my accomplishment and mine alone. After my workout, I stripped and lay down on the bed and took a nap. I thought I’d give my muscles a real rest and, besides, I was sleepy. I drifted off to the sound of Colin playing with his new toys in the living room. When I awakened, it was close to noon. I sat up and stretched. I walked to the window and looked out. The ground was covered with snow and more was falling from the sky. It was pretty. It seemed I’d been noticing more things like falling snow since I’d come out to myself. Was that part of being gay? I don’t mean heterosexuals can’t appreciate beauty, but I’d been noticing stuff like sunsets and flowers more now. It did seem kind of queer, but that was probably prejudice talking. I guess it didn’t matter. I enjoyed what I enjoyed. I was better off for being able to take pleasure out of more things, so it sure wasn’t bad that I thought snow was pretty. There were other things in life besides working out, although it was still near the top of my list! I pulled on some boxers in case Colin came running into the room and put on a CD. It was Phantom’s Christmas album. Recently, my boy-band CDs had come out of the closet as well as my comics. I figured I’d come out of the closet, so why couldn’t they? After everyone found out I liked dick, it didn’t seem that big of a deal if they found out I was into Phantom and Hanson.

Mark A. Roeder

259

Janelle had been totally cool about my gayness, although it took a good deal of convincing to make her believe it wasn’t some elaborate practical joke. That was my fault. I’d pulled some pranks on her in the past that made her doubt my sincerity—like the April Fool’s Day when I got her dentist to tell her she needed a root canal, or the time I put in a tape of her favorite TV show and convinced her it was Thursday when it was only Monday. Anyway, once she believed me, she was supportive. It really helped that she accepted me. I hardly lacked confidence or self-esteem, but her opinion mattered. She could’ve kicked my butt out on the street, too. Sure, I paid half the bills, but she didn’t really need me. That didn’t happen, though, and I loved her more than ever. Wahlberg’s was closed for Christmas so I had the whole day free—no work, no school, no practice. I put on my jeans, pulled a sweater over a long-sleeved shirt and slipped on my black leather jacket. I wore my wooly socks too. They kept my toes nice and toasty in the coldest weather. I decided on my snow boots instead of sneakers. Suitably attired (and looking good), I left the house and wandered about town. It wasn’t the most exciting of pastimes, but, of course, I was still on the prowl and, who knew, maybe Santa would send me a cute boy for Christmas? The snow crunched a little underfoot, but mainly it was soft and fluffy. I was comfortable, warm even, under my sweater and jacket, but it was cold! I was willing to bet it was about twenty. Like most people who lived in Verona, the cold didn’t bother me too much. It was just there in the winter, like the snow. I much preferred warm weather, but since I couldn’t change it, I tolerated the cold. Besides, it was Christmas Day so the cold and snow were appropriate. I wouldn’t have made it eighty degrees on Christmas even if it was within my power, which it most definitely was not. I walked around downtown, looking at the Christmas decorations in the windows of the closed shops. There weren’t a lot of people out, but then that was to be expected. I thought I’d walk over to the local sledding hill and see if there was anything going on there. It was way over on the other side of town, but it’s not like I had anything else to do. I was glad I’d brought along gloves. My hands could’ve stayed pretty warm in my pockets without them, but it wasn’t wise to walk round like that. There were too many slick spots and I needed my hands to catch myself if I fell, not that I was planning it, but who planned on having an accident? I guess planning an accident wasn’t possible, because you can’t have a premeditated accident. It took me about half an hour to reach the Devil’s Backbone. That was the most severe of the sledding hills. Most people used the less-steep hills around it, but the real daredevils gathered there.

Mark A. Roeder

260

Elliott Mundy and Jeremy Herrington were standing at the top of the Devil’s Backbone, leaning on their sleds, surveying the steep incline. “Thinkin’ of going down?” I asked, realizing I’d opened myself for a shot, not that either of them would’ve dared. It’s not like they could say something like, “You sure love to go down—on guys, don’t you, Skye?” “It’s not that tough,” said Jeremy. “Okay then, let’s see you do it.” “You first,” he said. I put out my hand for his sled and he gave it to me. I’d been down the Devil’s Backbone before. I’m sure Jeremy and Elliott had too. It wasn’t to be taken lightly, however. Not only was it incredibly steep, but there were trees at the bottom that could spell disaster if you didn’t steer around them or stop before reaching them. Most kids were warned by their parents never to go down that hill, but some of them defied the warnings. I showed no fear as I put the sled down and climbed on top. Without hesitation I pushed off and careened down the hill. In seconds, I felt like I was going eighty. The slope was bumpy and the sled tried to buck me off, but I held on and rode it out. The whole ride only took a few seconds. The trees were coming up fast. I thought there was no way I could stop without wiping out, but I managed to just barely steer clear of a thick oak and sail on by. I whooped loudly as the sled came to a halt. Now came the hard part, climbing back up the hill. It wasn’t nearly as fun as going down. I huffed and puffed my way up, stopping to watch Elliott as he shot down the hill. He was shouting all the way, having the time of his life. As I reached the top, I handed the sled back to Jeremy. “I guess you’re the only one left,” I said. Jeremy’s eyes darted nervously about. He wasn’t as brave on the hill as he was on the football field. “Aww, come on Jeremy, little kids go down this hill. You can do it,” I said, as if I was encouraging a one-year old to take his first steps. “Fuck you, Skye,” said Jeremy, placing his sled at the top of the hill. There was a significant pause before Jeremy took off. I wish I could’ve watched his face as he went down the hill. He arrived safe and sound at the bottom. Elliott and Jeremy took off for a tamer hill and I wandered around to see who else was sledding. I found three boys, all about fourteen, playing a game of ‘push the queer’ with their unwilling victim in the center. I grabbed one by the shoulder and jerked him around.

Mark A. Roeder

261

“Knock—it—off,” I said calmly and firmly. The boy I’d jerked around gulped, another looked fearful, but the third had a cocky smirk on his face. “Who says?” he said. “I do.” “Oh yeah, you’re that faggot on the wrestling team. I bet you’re real popular in the locker room. You’re everyone’s girlfriend, right?” “Do you have a death wish, or are you just stupid?” I asked. “Shut up, fag.” The boy almost had me speechless. He was about 5'4", probably weighed not much more than a hundred pounds, and he was talking shit right to my face. “Get him,” he said suddenly and lunged at me. His two friends jumped on me too. It was the most difficult fight I’d been in so far, not because my opponents were too tough for me, but because I didn’t want to beat the crap out of little kids. The cocky one deserved a good beating, but I knew I’d feel like a bully if I gave him one. Of course, it’s not like I was picking on them. They jumped me, after all. All three boys were throwing punches and the cocky little shit was going for my nuts at every opportunity. I blocked rather than punched. I shoved the meeker two out of the way when they came in close, or threw them into the snow. My only interest in them was keeping them off me so I could watch out for the more dangerous one. I knew he would hurt me bad if given the chance. I was far stronger than he was, but that didn’t mean I was invulnerable. I was too smart to make that mistake. The brat came at me again. He was throwing some strong punches for a kid. None of them connected, but I could feel the force of them on my forearms as I blocked. I sidestepped him and tripped him as he shot by. He went face down in the snow. A crowd had gathered, naturally. People came out of nowhere when there was a fight, although I’d hardly call what we were doing fighting. The two calmer boys were easy to handle. When they darted in, I just flung them away, or back, or sent them sprawling. The brat was more difficult, but I began to have fun with him. He was becoming frustrated and super pissed off. It made him more reckless than ever. The brat came for me again, this time aiming a kick for my nads. I grabbed the heel of his boot and tossed him backwards in the snow. He awkwardly climbed to his feet, growled like a wild animal and launched himself at me again.

Mark A. Roeder

262

His friends had completely given up, but he wasn’t about to stop. He launched himself at me once more and I tossed him away. When he came in again, I grabbed the front of his coat and held him at arm’s length while he kicked and punched at me uselessly. “Dude, I can keep this up all day,” I said. The struggle ended swiftly, however. Elliott returned with Jeremy, grabbed the brat by the shoulder and jerked him around. “What do you think you’re doing?” “This fag was picking on me and the guys,” he said. “Don’t call him a fag, dumb ass. He could break you in half.” “Yeah, right! He hasn’t even landed a punch.” “You’ll have to forgive my brother,” said Elliott. “All the brains went to me and he got…well, nothing, apparently.” The brat rolled his eyes and Elliott smacked him in the back of the head. I laughed, which pissed the brat off even more. He actually tried to come at me again, but his older brother restrained him. “Do you have a death wish?” Elliott asked him. “Lemme go! I’m gonna kick his ass!” “Dude, Skye’s just playing with you. He isn’t even trying. He could take your punk ass out with one punch.” The brat yelled in fury and tried for me one last time. Elliott lifted him in the air and tossed him over his shoulder. “I’m taking you home before you get yourself killed,” said Elliott. “See ya at school, Skye, and thanks for not killing dumb ass here. He’s not so bad when you get to know him.” “Later,” I said. Jeremy hadn’t spoken during the whole time he’d been standing there. He followed Elliott and his struggling brother. The brat’s two friends quietly made their getaway and everyone else drifted away, leaving me alone on the hill. I probably should’ve clocked that kid, even if he was young, but it was Christmas. Not belting him was kind of my Christmas gift to him. I headed for home, walking through the snow, keeping my eyes out for cute guys. There just weren’t enough of them in Verona. Of course, what we really needed were more cute gay guys. I wished I had a list of all of ’em who lived in town, but fear of being abused kept most of them in hiding. That’s a situation that had to come to an end. I felt good inside knowing I was doing my part.

Oliver

Christmas morning was filled with gifts and flying paper. My parents kind of spoiled me, but I wasn’t too spoiled, because I appreciated it all. I loved Christmas presents. There was just something about not knowing what was inside the beautifully wrapped boxes. I loved the anticipation of Christmas morning. In a way, it was almost better than Christmas itself, because then Christmas Day was all ahead. I sometimes wished I could just freeze time in the days right before Christmas and just go on and on living in them forever. I unwrapped a lot of books. I could tell most of them were books before I unwrapped them. My pre-Christmas exploration had told me that much. I couldn’t resist shaking packages to get an idea of what might be inside. It didn’t matter that I knew a book was inside before I unwrapped it, because I had no idea which book. I also tore the paper off a new CD player, which was especially cool because it had a radio and tape player, and even picked up some TV stations. Mom and Dad also got me a lot of clothes. When I was a kid, I hated getting clothes as a gift. That was the worst. I’d be expecting a toy or something and open a package to find a shirt. What a letdown. I was fourteen now and things had changed. I’d asked for some cool clothes like Skye wore. I wasn’t about to become label obsessed like him, but I did want a few Abercrombie & Fitch and other items to go with my regular clothes. I gave Mom some real pretty earrings I’d found when we went Christmas shopping in South Bend, as well as some of her favorite perfume. For Dad I got a Case pocket knife and some warm socks. He was always complaining of cold feet - 263 -

Mark A. Roeder

264

in the winter. My parents loved their presents. I knew they would pretend to love them even if they didn’t, but I could tell they really liked them. I loved all of mine! After we opened presents we had breakfast. Mom made blueberry and pecan pancakes and bacon. I knew my weight loss would suffer, but, hey, it was Christmas. Skye said it was just as important to give in sometimes and eat what you wanted as it was to deny yourself at other times. This was one of the giving in times and I sure enjoyed it. I loved my pancakes with plenty of syrup and lots of butter. I noticed it didn’t take me too long to get full. I’d grown used to eating less and I just couldn’t handle as many pancakes as I could in the old days. That was a good thing, though. I had all I wanted and still ate less than I used to. I was gonna lose all that weight yet. I was feeling good about the weight I’d already taken off. I weighed every Monday morning and, more often than not, I’d lost some weight. That was enough to make me happy for most of the day. If I didn’t lose any, or gained, I just tried that much harder. I felt lighter and better. That’s what really made me determined to lose weight. It wasn’t just about looking good. It was about feeling good. Skye had mentioned that, but I hadn’t understood it until I’d taken off a few pounds. He might be a jock, but he knew a few things. After breakfast, I took a walk—partly just to get out and be alone with my thoughts and partly to work off some of the pancakes and bacon. I thought a lot about my weight. I’d have to watch myself or I’d become as obsessed with my own body as Skye was with his. I laughed out loud. Like that could ever happen! No one was as into himself as Skye. He was still a good guy, though, kind of like my own personal super hero. A snowball smacked me in the back of the head. It’d come out of nowhere. I jerked my head around, this way and that, but there was no one in sight. Another hit my coat, exploding harmlessly. It was followed by a laugh. Ken jumped down out of the tree I’d just walked under. “Sorry,” he said, “I couldn’t resist.” He kissed me. That made up for everything. “I just looked in that tree,” I said. “Were you…” “Yeah, invisible. You have no idea how much fun I have messing with people.” I grinned. “You’re Verona’s resident poltergeist, huh?” I asked.

Mark A. Roeder

265

“More or less.” I shook my head. “What?” asked Ken. “I just…I just can’t get over that you’re a ghost.” “Yeah, well, it wasn’t the easiest thing for me to get used to either. Just put yourself in my shoes. You’re alive and then a few minutes later, you’re dead. I didn’t know what was going on there for a while.” “I thought you just saw a bright light and then people you know came to get you.” “I think it’s like that for a lot of people, but not for others. I dunno, maybe I did something bad in life and I’m supposed to do some good stuff to make up for it before I can go on.” “Well, you’ve already warned me about Clay. I wouldn’t have suspected him of anything sinister, not for a second.” “The worst evil is that which masquerades as good,” said Ken, quite seriously. “I don’t even want to think of what could’ve happened to me.” “That doesn’t matter, because now you know.” “Yeah, but I’ve gotta keep my guard up. The guys said I shouldn’t go anywhere alone.” “And so you decided to go out on a little stroll all by yourself?” “I didn’t really think about it. I’m not exactly used to the idea that someone might want to kill me. That’s the kind of thing that happens to other people.” “You’re the perfect victim, Oliver,” said Ken, gazing at me. “What do you mean?” “You don’t think it can happen to you. You’re too trusting. Your inner sense didn’t even warn you about Clay.” I frowned. I felt…not insulted, but…hurt…or more like embarrassed. “Don’t feel bad, Oliver. I’m just saying you’re an innocent.” “I’d like to be a little less innocent,” I said, staring at Ken’s lips. He smiled and kissed me. “Can ghosts…that is…can you…you know?” “Make love, have sex?” I nodded. “Oh yes,” he smiled wickedly. “Are you saying you want to?” “Yes. No. Yes, but…not yet. I don’t feel ready. Does that make any sense?” “It makes perfect sense. You physically desire it. It is a need after all, just like food and water—well, almost.” “It is?”

Mark A. Roeder

266

“Sure, it’s a built-in instinct. Otherwise, humans might’ve died out long ago. Sex is a little odd, when you think about it.” “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” I said. “I never really thought of it before, but it’s kind of weird that people want to do that. I understand it. I wanna do it real bad, but still, it’s weird.” “You want to do it, but it seems frightening to you.” “Yes, it’s so…different. It’s like…I dunno…learning to ride a bicycle or trying to learn how to dance, but it’s so much more…personal.” “You can’t get much more personal than sex.” “Yeah.” “Well, when you’re ready, I’ll be waiting.” I smiled and nodded. Ken was so good and kind not to pressure me. He was older and surely didn’t have the same doubts and fears as I did, but he understood them and didn’t push me. I was falling in love with him. At least I think I was. I didn’t really know what love was all about, but I felt like I loved him. Ken kissed me again. “You’re just a little bit wicked,” I said. “You have no idea.” He grinned and kissed me again. It was a beautiful Christmas Day.

Skye

I finally cornered Ben after wrestling practice. We’d just returned from Christmas vacation, and Coach Selby had called him into his office because Ben was being an all around jerk, which was something Coach didn’t care for at all. I lingered after my shower, just sitting in the locker room talking to the guys as they dressed and departed one by one. I enjoyed the scenery of naked jocks, but my real purpose was far more important. It was interesting how most of my teammates had grown used to the idea that I was gay. I noticed a few always changed facing away from me, as if fearful I’d try to get a look at their stuff. I thought that was kind of funny, because over the years I’d seen each of my teammates naked so many times that I could describe their dicks with my eyes closed. Hiding them now was kind of pointless. I did try not to look at the guys who seemed uncomfortable. I wasn’t going to jump them, but I knew it would take a while before some of ’em realized that. They should’ve already known it. If I hadn’t felt them up in the entire time we’d been showering together, playing football together, wrestling together, and getting naked together in the locker room, what made them think I’d do it now? I think that’s what set a lot of guys at ease. They knew me a long time before they found out I was queer, so they were already accustomed to me. I’d already proven myself innocent of taking advantage long before they even knew I was interested in guys. Ben tried to make a beeline for the exit when he came out of coach’s office, but I was waiting on him. I grabbed him firmly by the wrist and twisted his arm behind his back.

- 267 -

Mark A. Roeder

268

“Cry out and I break it,” I said in a tone that indicated I was serious. Everyone else was gone by then, except for Coach. He would’ve stopped me I’m sure, but Ben didn’t dare call out. “We’re gonna have a little talk,” I said, as I led Ben into the gym and then out the doors into the freezing air. Ben looked scared enough to shit his pants, but he was wise enough not to cry out for help. He knew I’d snap his arm in a flash if he did. I kept Ben’s arm twisted behind his back as we walked across the parking lot, hurting him just enough to let him know he didn’t dare try to escape. I led him past the boulder with the plaque and then on across the soccer fields and onto the path the led into the woods. Not until we were well down the path and hidden by the leafless trees did I release and face him. I don’t think I’d ever seen Ben so terrified before. There was a touch of anger in his eyes, but mostly what I saw was plain old fear. “Names,” I said. Ben shook his head, his eyes wide. “You’re going to tell me, Ben. It’s as simple as that. I should beat the crap out of you for your part in all this, but I’m willing to forgive you once if you tell me who else was involved. “I’m not telling you anything, fag.” I jabbed him in the gut so quickly even I wasn’t aware I was going to do it until it’d already been done. Ben doubled over, clutching his stomach. “I want the names, Ben. You can tell me willingly or I can convince you to talk. Personally, I’d rather do it that hard way. It’s all up to you.” “I can’t tell you!” he cried. “Do you know what they’ll do to me?” He was in terror not only of me, but of his buddies as well. With friends like his, who needed enemies? Ben had an enemy directly in front of him, though— me. “Do you know what I’ll do to you if you don’t? I’m not letting those fuckers get by with what they did!” Ben trembled. He hated me. I could see it in his eyes. He wanted to hurl words like “faggot” at me, but he didn’t dare. I grew impatient. I pounced on Ben. I didn’t start punching, mainly because I knew if I started I might not be able to stop. I truly wanted to hurt him and feared what I might do if I lost control. I knew what would terrify Ben more than a beating. What I wanted most of all is names, and I knew just how to make him talk.

Mark A. Roeder

269

I forced Ben onto his stomach and jerked his jeans down. I lay full length on top of him and whispered into his ear, “Remember what I said I’d do to you if you crossed me, Ben? Do you? Well, you’ve crossed me, Ben, and if you don’t start talking right now it’s going to happen.” He fought, but couldn’t escape. I grabbed his boxers and pulled them down, exposing his naked butt. Ben cracked. “Jarret Dilger.” “You sure?” “Yes!” “Who else?” “Glen Barrett.” “Keep going.” “Oh, God, I can’t!” I pressed my crotch into Ben’s ass. I still had my jeans on, but it made my point. “Alex Allerbrook!” “One more name will save your ass, Ben.” “How do I know you won’t do it anyway?” “It would serve you right, wouldn’t it, Ben? You fucking little Nazi. It didn’t bother you at all to beat me up, did it? I know you’re not sorry. The only thing you’re sorry about is that you got caught. I should rape your ass to pay you back. I could do it too. I would be so easy and you’d be too ashamed to tell, wouldn’t you, Ben?” He didn’t answer. He just cried. “I keep my word, though, Ben—lucky for you I keep it. Give me the last name, Ben.” “He’ll hurt me!” “So will I. Choose! You’ve already given me the other names, Ben, so what’s one more?” Ben remained silent. I began to slowly count down and at the same time remove my jeans. “Ten…nine…eight…when I get to zero, Ben, I’m gonna do it and I won’t stop no matter how many times you scream the name…seven…six. I’ll just keep going, Ben. I’ll use you like you deserve to be used. Five…four…” “Jeremy Herrington! Oh God! Please don’t hurt me!” I got up and pulled up my jeans. Ben just lay there sobbing in the snow. “You’re the one who had to make this hard, Ben. Remember that. Now, I probably don’t have to tell you this, but don’t you say a word to those guys. Don’t you tell them I know.”

Mark A. Roeder

270

“What are you going to do to them?” “No worse than they did to me, but no one fucks me over and gets away with it. You’re pathetic, get up!” Ben climbed to his feet, pulling up his boxers and jeans. “You knock off the shit,” I said, pointing at him. “I’d better not find you picking on anyone else because they’re queer or I’ll finish what I started. Got it?” “Yes,” he said, nodding his head. He was pitifully eager to please me. “Can I…can I go?” His voice was so meek, not at all like the usual Ben. “Get outta here,” I said. Ben ran. He tore out of the woods like the hounds of hell were pursuing him. I had my list of names. It was time for the fun to begin. I slowly walked back the way I’d come. I don’t think Ben realized how much danger he was in when alone with me in the woods. Even now, I trembled with desire. A part of me had wanted to give into the temptation, even after Ben had given me the names. I’d given my word, however, and once the final name passed his lips he was safe. Before that, however, he was in very real danger. I frightened myself in the woods because I’d come very close to making good on my threat. I had Ben down on the ground. I was stronger. He’d never have told a living soul. Perhaps he even deserved it for what he’d done to me. And I wanted it. I wanted it so badly. I’d nearly done it, even though I knew it was wrong, and that’s what frightened me. How close are any of us to being a rapist or a murderer? One little nudge is all it really took and that was truly terrifying. Ben had no idea how big of a favor he’d done himself when he spoke that last name. He had no idea how big of a favor he’d done me as well. He’d saved me from committing an act that would’ve forever haunted me. I was lost in thought and fear as I crossed the soccer fields—thought of what I’d do to take my revenge and fear of what I’d nearly become. I didn’t notice him until I was close, but when I did I gasped. Taylor was running around in front of one of the soccer goals, bouncing a soccer ball with his knees. He was dressed in a blue and white V.H.S. soccer uniform with the number fourteen emblazoned on the chest. It was freezing. I was dressed warmly, but he was wearing only a thin shirt and shorts. I was both frightened and awed by his presence. He stopped when I drew close, effortlessly knocking the ball high into the air and then catching it with his hand. My God, he was beautiful. I really could believe he was what I’d been told. True to my own thoughts, the first words out of my mouth were, “Are you an angel?” Taylor smiled at me and seemed to grow brighter. He simply answered, “Yes.”

Mark A. Roeder

271

I wanted to ask for some proof, but did I dare? “There is danger in what you have planned,” said Taylor. “It could easily lead you into temptation as you were tempted with Ben in the woods.” It was creepy how he seemed to know everything. He’d likely seen Ben emerge from the woods, but how could he know what I’d almost done? “Danger? Temptation?” I asked. “Yes. You wield a great power, Skye, a fearsome physical strength and in this case much more. You intend to revenge yourself on the guilty, but in your righteousness you may well go much further than you should.” “It is not only revenge, but a deterrent.” “That I know well,” said Taylor. “I did not say you must not do this thing, but you must be careful not to carry it too far.” “You mean you approve?” “My approval or disapproval is irrelevant, for your actions concern your life, not mine. My caution is that you do not become that which you despise in order to punish those who have wronged you. Power is a very dangerous thing. Its corrupting influence is more than most can endure.” “You seem to know a lot about me, what I’ve done and what I plan to do.” “I’ve been sent as your guide, Skye. All your life has been in preparation for these events.” “For what I’ve done or for what I’m about to do?” “For those times when you’ve saved others from pain and for those you will save in the future. Whether or not your current actions will yield the results you desire I cannot say.” “Cannot or will not?” “I cannot interfere with your choices, because it is your choices that make you what you are. Only you can determine that.” “And what do you advise?” “I advise that which I’ve already said: Do not let yourself be tempted to take things further than you must. Do not be tempted by your own power. You were given your strength for a purpose; do not misuse your gift.” “Can you…can you…” “Can I prove I’m an angel,” said Taylor with a sigh. “If I must.” He appeared to do nothing, but the area about us suddenly changed. We were standing in the exact same places, but the failing light had turned to the brightness of afternoon sun. There were shouts and cheers all around us. I dove out of the way as a soccer player streaked for the goal.

Mark A. Roeder

272

“There is no cause for worry. They can’t touch you. They can’t see you. To them we don’t exist.” “What is this?” I asked. “This is seventeen years ago. Don’t you recognize that boy playing?” I looked and saw Taylor dribbling a soccer ball down the field. At his side was a handsome boy with dark hair. They smiled and laughed as they cut through the defenders with ease. It was bizarre to see Taylor playing soccer while, at the same time, he was standing beside me. “Do you recognize those boys in the stands?” asked Taylor. I walked closer. A very muscular boy without a shirt caught my eye. At first I noticed only his body, but then I looked upon his face. “Ethan?” “Yes,” said Taylor. I gazed more at the stands. Nathan was beside him. It had to be him. I’d seen him often enough in Wahlberg’s. I really was in the past. “Proof enough?” asked Taylor. “Yes,” I said. We stood there for several moments more, watching the soccer game and then we returned to the present. “Why haven’t you told me all this before?” I asked. “Because you weren’t ready.” “You always do this to me! You give me half answers or none at all!” “I tell you what I may and what you can comprehend.” “You’re doing it again!” I said, exasperated, but not angry. “If I told you all, what would be the point of living? And as I’ve said, you must be allowed to make your own choices.” “Do you know what’s going to happen? I mean, can you see the future?” “I cannot see far into the future, for it is veiled by choices, choices upon choices and is determined by the choices made.” “I guess that makes sense, but doesn’t God know?” “That I truly cannot answer, because I do not know the mind of God.” “Hey!” I said, suddenly coming to a realization. “Where were you several nights ago when I was attacked? You warn me when others are in danger, why did you not warn me of my own?” “I warned you as much as I could. I told you not to remain out after dark and you chose to do so.” “Well couldn’t you have been a little more specific? Couldn’t you have told me those guys were coming for me?”

Mark A. Roeder

273

“There are times when I am not allowed to interfere.” “Well doesn’t that just suck ass!” I yelled, suddenly wondering if it was wise to talk so in front of an angel. “Yes, it does,” said Taylor, with a smile. “So there are times you just have to stand back and let bad things happen, even though you could stop them with a click of your fingers?” “More or less,” said Taylor, “although it’s not nearly that simple. Some things are meant to be, however, and I cannot change their course. The living have a much greater say in what happens than I do, and I’m only here to guide you.” I looked away for a moment, and when I looked back he was gone. “Why do you always do that?” I shouted. I could’ve sworn I heard laughter on the wind. I considered Taylor’s words. How could I not seek revenge? Should I just forget what I had planned, even though I now possessed the names of all those responsible for what had been done to me? If I walked away, it’s likely Ben would never tell the others that I knew their identities. He lived in fear of them turning on him and with good reason—he’d betrayed them to save his own hide. A part of me could not bear them going unpunished. How often had Glen and Alex looked at me, knowing they’d beat me nearly senseless, thinking they had gotten away with it? Jeremy—how he played the accepting teammate when all the while he’d been planning his attack. And Jarret—he deserved to be punished the most of all. He’d flirted with me. He’d wanted what happened between us as badly as I, but then he denied his own nature and had gone as far as joining my attackers to ease his own guilt, to prove to himself he was not what he was. I paused for a moment. How many of us went to extremes to deny our true selves? Had I not been doing so for years? Had I not intentionally lost myself in building my body up as much as humanly possible? Had I not done so to draw my mind away from the true conflict within? Wasn’t my quest to be manly a ruse to prove to all, including myself, that I was not what I knew deep down to be true? Wasn’t I even now obsessed with remaining on top so I could feel safe from the ugly insults that might otherwise be hurled at me? I felt no shame in what I was. There was a time when I would’ve felt that way, but that time was gone. But I still feared the taunts and the prejudice. I feared to be singled out and despised. There was no just reason for others to despise me, but that didn’t matter at all. Innocence was not a defense. Strength was my weapon and my shield. Even Taylor said it was my gift. Surely, I was meant to use it. But how?

Mark A. Roeder

274

Was what I had planned the right course, or a mistake? Could I control the power I’d been given or would it overwhelm and control me? I’d felt the danger of it as I held Ben pinned beneath me. I’d felt the urge to give in and satisfy my lusts and desires for violence, rather than remain civilized. I’d felt the urge before. How close was I, how close were any of us, to being a wild savage? After what I’d felt as I held Ben beneath me, I feared myself like never before. I looked at my watch. “Shit, I’m late.” I walked quickly to my car, jumped in and drove to Wahlberg’s. I hoped Oliver was holding down the fort. He was, of course. Oliver was probably the most dependable person in the world. He was one of the least nosy too. He didn’t ask why I was late. I was glad of that. What was I going to say? Oh, I was just in the woods threatening to rape Ben if he didn’t tell me what I wanted, and after that I was talking to an angel. Yeah, that would’ve been fun. Oliver and I had become friends, but I could just imagine what he’d think of me if I told him the truth. Oddly enough, he probably wouldn’t be shocked that I’d been talking to an angel. After all, he was dating a ghost. We’d already wandered far into the twilight zone, so it wasn’t a big leap from ghosts to angels. I was comforted rather than disturbed by Oliver’s ghost. Sean, Nick, Marshall and Oliver calmly discussed something that many people found unbelievable, so if I was dangerously insane, at least I had company. Still, it was hard not to doubt my sanity. I’d been seeing an angel. Isn’t that what crazy people claimed? Didn’t they think God or someone else was telling them to go and kill people or something like that? Taylor wasn’t commanding me to kill anyone, though; he wasn’t commanding anything. He was urging caution—quite the opposite of telling me to kill. I knew in my heart he was real, that he was an angel, and Oliver’s ghost sure seemed real too. I still had my doubts, but deep down, I knew. “Anything I need to be doing?” I asked Oliver. “You’ll be sorry you asked. A humongous shipment of birdseed came in today. Mr. Wahlberg wants us to set up a display over in the corner. There are a couple hundred ten-pound bags and about half that many fifty-pound bags sitting out back. I haven’t been able to touch them. It’s been one customer after another.” “Hectic huh?” “It was like Christmas shopping season at the mall,” said Oliver. I laughed out loud at that. We were busy sometimes, but I could never picture Wahlberg’s that crowded.

Mark A. Roeder

275

“I’ll take care of the birdseed, Oliver. Thanks for covering for me. I’m sorry I was late.” “It’s okay, man. I just missed basking in the glow of your stunning male beauty.” “Shut up.” Oliver laughed. I turned my attention to the task at hand, squeezing an Ortho display up against the rack of paint brushes to make some room. It’s not like anyone would be dusting their tomatoes or spraying their gardens anytime soon. It was January after all. I walked through the storeroom and out the back door and began lugging in the larger bags of birdseed. It was a good thing Mr. Wahlberg had ordered more, because we were just about out. We sold tons of birdseed during the winter, literally. I made one trip after another and arranged the fifty-pound bags in a rectangular stack. When I got it about waist high, I placed the smaller, ten-pound bags on top in kind of a pyramid. I left it so some of the fifty-pound bags weren’t covered, because I didn’t want to have to shift the smaller bags every time someone wanted a larger one. There was still a ton of birdseed out back when I finished the display, so I put the rest in the store room, curling the larger bags like they were barbells. Birdseed isn’t made for curling, however, as it shifts in the bag but I did the best I could. It helped keep me occupied. My mind was racing, of course. How could it not be? I tried to chill out and lose myself in my work, but how could I forget I’d just talked to an angel? It’s not that I wanted to forget. I wanted to think about it. It was just so overwhelming I needed to shift my mind to something a bit more normal for a while. Yeah, sure, I’d talked to Taylor plenty of times, but before he was just a mysterious boy. Now he was something far more incredible. I felt I should shout to the entire world the news that angels really do exist, but I didn’t think the world was ready to hear it. I pondered my plan for a while. Thanks to Ben, I now had a list of the guilty, and it was time to punish them. I wasn’t just going to hunt them down one by one and beat the crap out of them. Oh, I’d work ’em over good, of course, but I intended to strike terror into their hearts before I laid a hand on them. It’s what they deserved. I was indulging in a personal vendetta, that was true, but there was more at stake here. I’d been targeted because I dared to stick up for queers. That’s why they’d been so intent on getting me. They had to stop me, otherwise it couldn’t be business as usual for them. With me as their champion, gay boys

Mark A. Roeder

276

didn’t have to live in fear. If someone abused them, they knew I’d stop it if I could and avenge it if I couldn’t. That’s why those prejudiced rednecks tried to terrorize me into backing off. It wasn’t gonna happen, though. I’d already decided that. I didn’t like pain. I didn’t like the thought I might get the shit beat out of me in the future. I sure didn’t care for the thought they might even kill me, accidentally or not. But I wasn’t going to back down, no matter what. If I put my tail between my legs, then it would be open season on boys like Oliver. I’d already seen the signs. Those little Nazis thought they’d cowed me, so they were growing bolder, but I was about to strike back. The whole thing with the KKK hoods instilled fear in my heart, but also made me more determined than ever not to take it lying down. I don’t know if those hoods were merely to obscure their identities or if there was a deeper message, but either way, I refused to be terrorized. Those bullies had picked on the wrong guy this time and I was gonna fuck ’em up. I was willing to die trying and that gave me the freedom to act. I was pleasantly tired by the time I finished carrying in all the birdseed. I sat at the counter with Oliver and talked. “So, how are you and the ghost getting along?” I asked. “It’s all so weird,” said Oliver. “You know? I feel like this whole situation can’t possibly be real. I know it’s real, better than anyone, and yet I feel like I could just wake up and find it all a dream.” Welcome to my world, I thought. “Didn’t that Shakespeare guy say something like, ‘There’s more stuff in the world than you’ve ever imaged’?” Oliver laughed. “Something like that.” “Maybe he was talking about stuff like ghosts.” “Maybe,” said Oliver, “but that’s fiction, so it hardly helps.” “Well, Sean, Nick and especially Marshall believe in it, so that should reassure you.” “Unless we’re all nuts.” I laughed nervously. “That’s a distinct possibility.” “I’m glad we’ve become closer,” said Oliver. “Me too. Us gay guys have to stick together, right?” Oliver smiled. “You’re kind of like a big brother. I feel like I can talk to you.”

Mark A. Roeder

277

It was my turn to smile. “Thanks, Oliver, now that you mention it, you’re kind of like a little brother. If you ever have questions…about sex or anything else, you can ask me.” Oliver turned red at my mention of sex. He could be extremely shy at times. I couldn’t picture him as sexual. Maybe it was because he was fourteen or maybe it was because I had come to think of him like a brother. Oliver wasn’t my type either, so maybe that had something to do with it. He was sexual, though; he had to be. All humans were sexual beings. It was instinct. I’d always dealt with it confidently. When I discovered jerking off, I felt no shame or guilt. I just thought it was awesome I could make myself feel that good and I did it every chance I got. It’s a wonder I didn’t rub myself raw. I guess I’d been kind of screwed up with sex, because I didn’t recognize I was into guys, but once that became clear I was off and running again. So far, I’d only done it with Jarret, but I knew I’d jump on the next willing guy with no reservations whatsoever. I didn’t think Oliver was like that at all. He’d probably be in college before he got laid. I guess that was okay for him, but it sure wasn’t my style. “I mean what I said. If you’ve got questions, don’t be embarrassed to ask me. I won’t laugh and I won’t make fun of you, okay?” Oliver nodded. “Oh, I’ve been playing Ages of Empire,” I said. “Lemme tell you what’s been going on in this scenario I’ve been playing. It’s wild.” Oliver and I got into discussing our shared obsession. He’d turned me onto Ages of Empire and I was becoming an addict, when time allowed. A warm glow filled me as I talked and laughed with Oliver. I could be myself with him. He really was like a little brother.

Oliver

My chest felt tight as Clay approached me. I was on my after-school walk, alone as I shouldn’t have been. I was pretty close to Sean’s house, so I could run for it if I needed to. I tried to calm myself. It wasn’t like Clay was going to grab me in broad daylight, or, in this case, the failing light of the late afternoon. He wouldn’t blow his cover like that. He wouldn’t reveal himself until he was ready to strike. That thought gave me no comfort. “Oliver! Man, I never see you around. We should go to a movie or something sometime.” “Uh, well, I can’t. I’ve got a boyfriend now.” Clay’s face fell. He looked for all the world like I’d stepped on his heart. What an actor. He could’ve manipulated me so easily if I hadn’t been warned. Even so, he played on my emotions. He looked so sad and lonely just then that I wanted to hug him. Only my anger restrained me. I knew what he’d done to those boys and what he was probably planning to do to me. The real source of my anger, however, was the way he cruelly played with my emotions. I’d had a crush on Clay…forever. Having him pretend to offer me everything I wanted was just too cruel for words. I was such a sap and an innocent, like Ken said. Even now I yearned for Clay. Was I stupid or what? “So, who are you dating?” “Um…you don’t know him. He’s from…away from here.” That was kind of a lie, but then again Ken was from out of this world. You couldn’t get much farther away than that. - 278 -

Mark A. Roeder

279

“Oh, okay, well…we could still do stuff. You know, just as friends, like before. I was kind of…well, that doesn’t matter now, but we could still go to a movie or something. Your boyfriend could come too, but I guess that would be kind of weird.” “Yeah, a little, and he’s kind of jealous. You are awfully cute after all.” Clay grinned. “I always thought you were cute.” “Me? Pudgy Oliver?” “Don’t put yourself down like that,” said Clay. “You’re cute. There’s a lot more to you besides that, too. Your boyfriend is a lucky guy.” Clay stifled a sob. I felt like I was on the edge of crying myself. To have Clay Vanderhausen call me cute and mean it was like a dream come true, but it might as well have been a dream. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean any of it. He was just playing me—luring me in for who knew what. “I…I’ve got to go,” said Clay. He turned and left. There were actual tears brimming in his eyes. I found a bench and sat down, tears streaming down my cheeks. I shivered in the cold January breeze and pulled my jacket more closely around my sweater. It didn’t help much. Nothing could warm the coldness I felt in my heart. It hurt to hear the words I wanted to hear and know they were meaningless. It was like a man dying of thirst in the desert seeing a lake, only to find out it was nothing more than a mirage. That’s what Clay was—a cruel mirage to taunt me with what I wanted but could never have. That wasn’t entirely true, though, I reminded myself. Clay wasn’t what he seemed, so I’d only been reaching for something that wasn’t real. Clay wasn’t the only boy in the world, either. It’s not like I couldn’t have anyone if I couldn’t have him. Ken was my boyfriend, so didn’t I already have what I’d wanted with Clay? Before I knew about him, wasn’t I unsure about just what I wanted— friendship or more? I thought of Ken and my mood improved. I wondered where our relationship could go, however. I mean, Ken was a ghost. He could only remain visible for short periods of time. How could we have any kind of life together? I knew I had my whole life to find someone and settle down with him, like Ethan and Nathan or Mr. Brewer and his boyfriend, but Ken; there was something about him. I didn’t want what we had to end, even though it was just beginning. I wished I could go somewhere for advice. I often turned to books, but I doubted I’d find A Guide for Boys Dating a Ghost in the library. I sure couldn’t talk to anyone about it. They would think I was nuts. Well, there was someone I could talk to, four someones in fact—Sean, Nick, Marshall and Skye—but what

Mark A. Roeder

280

were they likely to know? Marshall, he was my best bet. If anyone knew about this kind of thing, he would. I got up and headed for the nearest phone booth. It was nearly time to go to work, but I’d call Marshall first. I didn’t know his number, but it had to be listed. Half an hour later, Marshall was sitting on the counter of Wahlberg’s, swinging his legs. Skye was curling five gallon paint cans, trying to make himself even more buff—no surprise there. The place was empty, which was also no shock. “I’ve been thinking about Ken,” I told Marshall. “I really like him and all, but he’s, well, a ghost, so I don’t know how far things can go with him.” “Like sex?” asked Skye, his voice strained with lifting. “I asked him about that. He said he could do it, but that’s not what I mean. I’m not ready for sex yet.” “I was born ready,” said Skye. Marshall coughed and it sounded a whole lot like “slut.” “You wish,” said Skye. “Sorry, Skye, I’m only into girls.” “You know the difference between a heterosexual and a bisexual, Marshall?” asked Skye. “What?” “A six pack of beer.” Skye laughed, thinking he was quite clever. “Jocks shouldn’t try to be funny,” said Marshall, rolling his eyes. “Screw you,” said Skye. “I already told you I only like girls.” Skye stuck his tongue out at Marshall. “Getting back to me,” I said, “what I’m thinking about is more than sex. How can I have a ghost for a boyfriend? He’s not real. I mean, he’s real, but he’s not…alive. I don’t know if there’s a future there.” I looked at Marshall hopefully. “I don’t think dating Ken is a good idea, Oliver. I hate to tell you something you probably don’t want to hear, but I really don’t see how it could possibly work out. You’re from different worlds—literally. Even if you could be happy with someone you can only see part of the time, people would eventually notice something was odd. Sooner or later you’d be locked up for talking to an ‘imaginary’ friend. People would think you were dangerous or something. They’d have trouble enough dealing with you dating a boy, but a ghost? No way! Most wouldn’t believe it at all. They would just think you’d lost your mind. Even the few who would believe it might think it was some kind of sin.”

Mark A. Roeder

281

I frowned, but Marshall was making sense. Dating a ghost was pretty crazy. I was saddened. Clay wasn’t what I thought, and now I learned that things couldn’t be as I wanted with Ken. Was anything real? It just figured. Out of my two possibilities for boyfriends, one was dead and the other wanted me dead. Just what did I do to deserve something like this? “I guess you’re right,” I said. “I don’t suppose anyone has ever dated a ghost before?” “That, I don’t know,” said Marshall. “If they have, I doubt they told anyone.” He was sure right about that. “Okay, well, I guess that’s what I wanted to know.” “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you something more hopeful, but I really think it’s best for you to move on. Just think of it this way: Most relationships don’t work out and they don’t even involve anything bizarre like yours.” I shrugged with my eyebrows. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “So, when are we exploring Sean’s house again?” I asked. “Soon, I hope. I have a feeling something’s coming up—something big.” “Yeah, I’ve got a feeling too,” said Skye. “Right here.” He grabbed his crotch. “No doubt and stop giving me that look, ’cause it’s not gonna happen,” said Marshall. “Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it,” said Skye. Skye and Marshall were kidding around, but there was a seriousness to their words too. I wondered if Skye would really mess around with Marshall if he got the chance. “So something big, huh?” I asked. Skye started to open his mouth, but Marshall held up his finger. “Don’t say it!” Skye grinned. “I’m getting this…feeling of energy,” said Marshall, “like some big psychic event is on the horizon. It’s kind of like the feeling I get during a séance when a spirit comes through, only more powerful. I don’t know what it is, but it’s centered in Graymoor.” “Well, if I were a psychic event, that’s sure where I’d center myself,” said Skye. “You are a psychic event, Skye. Oh wait, that’s a psychotic event,” said Marshall. I laughed, but Skye looked a little confused. He turned his attention back to his curls. Marshall stayed for a bit longer and then left Skye and me alone. The farm store wasn’t at all busy most of the time in January. Mostly we sold birdseed and

Mark A. Roeder

282

candy, although local farmers did come in for parts now and then. Ethan and Nathan came in more than about anyone else, but Mr. Brewer was in quite a bit, too. He was a farmer as well as a teacher. I wondered how he handled both. I guess he didn’t farm as much land as the Selbys. Marshall had given me a lot to think about, even though it was stuff I didn’t want to think about. Clay was out and Ken was out too, at least as far as being a steady boyfriend was concerned. I guessed I would just have to enjoy what I had. Maybe I could start by going back to the gay-youth group and meeting someone there. It sure seemed like my best shot.

Skye

I typed out the note on my computer, considered it and then reworded it. I wanted it just right. I printed it out and looked at my handiwork.

I’m coming for you soon and I’m going to make you sorry. Live in fear, fucker, because I’m going to make you pay.

Short and to the point, that’s what I was going for. I tried to imagine what Glen would think when he found it in his locker. Would it instill the appropriate amount of fear? I wanted him to think about it before I got him. I wanted him to worry about what was going to happen. With any luck the anticipation would torment him. I knew it would take me a while to catch him alone, but until then, he could worry. I didn’t sign the note. I had little doubt Glen would figure out it was from me soon enough, but not knowing with certainty would torment him further. Like the others, except for Ben, he had no idea I knew he was one of my attackers, but surely he’d soon suspect. I also didn’t want to provide him with written evidence he could take to the principal or the police. That event was unlikely because of Glen’s own guilt, but I intended to play it safe. Glen was my first target. I wasn’t going after the others yet. I was going to nail them one by one. Glen would likely show the note to his buddies, and that’s what I wanted. It would get them wondering. They’d begin to fear and dread receiving - 283 -

Mark A. Roeder

284

a note of their own. Their own minds would torment them before I even laid a hand on them. I folded the note, stuffed it in my pocket, and then drove to school. I arrived a bit early on purpose, so I could slip the note into Glen’s locker without begin observed. Mission accomplished, I headed for class. My path crossed that of Glen after first period. I could tell at a glance he’d read the note and that his mind was racing. I could read the dilemma in his mind. I was the only one with a motive to send him such a note (at least to my knowledge), but he had no idea I knew he was one of my attackers. I was sure Ben hadn’t talked. When his buddies found out he’d squealed, they’d work him over for sure. That’s one reason I didn’t bother. I was willing to let him go if he coughed up the names, because I knew his “friends” would do my work for me. So there was Glen, no doubt suspecting me, but unable to confront me for fear of revealing himself. I was pleased to unleash such a cunning little puzzle upon him. I merely greeted Glen as always, smiling and slapping him on the back, giving no indication I despised him and intended to seek my revenge. His eyes searched mine, but to no avail. That’s right, fucker, be afraid; be very afraid. I wondered how long it would be before Glen shared the note with his fellow Nazis. That’s another reason I sent a note only to Glen. If I’d sent it to all of them at once, it would’ve been too easy for them to figure out the notes came from me. I knew they would figure it out shortly, but their confusion and ignorance would serve me well in the meantime. I sat with Scott at lunch, and, as always, Glen, Alex and Jeremy were near. What was that about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer? I found it useful. Ben kept his distance, as always, sitting at the same table but as far away as he could manage. Greg Whitmore kept some distance from me, too, although he’d changed considerably since Landon had shot him and then blown himself away. I guess a thing like getting shot could change a guy. Jarret sat at the same table, but also as far away as possible, ever since we’d had sex. Neither Ben nor Jarret wanted to break with their teammates, but they didn’t want to get too close to me either. Ben had been a belligerent jerk from day one, and Jarret had turned on me with all his “I was only experimenting” bullshit. The funny thing about Jarret is that I knew sooner or later he’d be back for more. That added an interesting dimension to our relationship. We’d had sex, he’d anonymously attacked me and sometime in the very near future, if I wasn’t much mistaken, we’d have sex again. I had every intention of beating him senseless when the time came for my revenge, but I also intended to have sex with him again. Let’s face it, the boy

Mark A. Roeder

285

was good, and pounding him would be even more satisfying because of what he’d done to me. Oliver usually sat near me at lunch, more often than not right beside me, to my left, away from my teammates. It was an unusual situation. It was Glen, Alex and Jeremy who’d picked on Oliver on Halloween night and me who had kicked their asses for it. Glen, Alex and Jeremy were as hostile as ever, but there they sat with Oliver and me. Of course, they’d been playing it up as if all was forgiven, but later they’d attacked me like cowards while wearing their masks. Oh, the drama that played out in the V.H.S. cafeteria—so many secret plots and designs! I did nothing to let the cowards know I was onto them. Their ignorance furthered my plan. Poor Ben was a nervous wreck. He tried to conceal it, but he looked like a man expecting to be taken to the gallows, and sooner rather than later. It was more or less true. His head wouldn’t be separated from his neck, but he might wish it was by the time his buddies were finished with him. The waiting must’ve been excruciating for him. I enjoyed every moment of watching him squirm. I derived a similar pleasure watching Glen. He didn’t know quite what to do; that much was obvious. Soon he’d show the note to his fellow Nazis, of that I was sure, and then his confusion would only deepen. It would make it that much easier to grab him. The others would be a greater challenge I was sure, but Glen would be easy. I could’ve grabbed Glen after wrestling practice. I had my chance. We both ended up leaving a bit late—me because I spent some extra time in the weight room and Glen because he’d stuck his foot in his mouth again, saying something about queers, so that Coach Selby called him into his office for a “talk.” Glen looked at me nervously in the locker room, as if he expected me to belt him. He was likely expecting it because of his little pillow-biter joke during practice, but he didn’t know for sure I’d overheard, and the joke wasn’t directed at me. I’m sure the rest of his nervousness came from the note. He just didn’t know, and it was driving him crazy. I decided to screw with him just a bit. “You’d better be glad Coach lectured your ass over that shit you said in the gym,” I said, “or I’d have given you a lecture and you would’ve found it much more painful.” I put a bit of menace into my voice. It was such fun to threaten him. “But, I guess you’ve paid, just watch yourself.” I slammed my locker shut and left, leaving Glen more confused than ever.

Mark A. Roeder

✶

✶

✶

286

✶

I entertained myself while waiting for my chance at Glen by slipping another note into his locker. This one was even shorter than the first and came right to the point.

I hope pain is something you enjoy. See you soon, coward.

I was having way too much fun. I loved the idea of anonymous notes. I’d gotten it from Ethan’s story of what’d happened to him when he was in high school. Some creep kept putting notes in his locker, threatening to out him and do all sorts of horrible things. I thought there was a certain justice in turning it around. Now the gay boy was sending the notes. I reminded myself of Taylor’s warning. I needed to make sure I didn’t take things too far. I knew if I got started on Glen, it wouldn’t be easy to stop. I didn’t want to get carried away and hurt him so bad I did permanent damage, or worse, killed him. He’d been a bastard, but he didn’t deserve to die for it. He did deserve to get his ass kicked and that’s what was gonna happen. I intended to teach him a lesson so he’d think twice about jumping me or any other gay guy again. The wrestling meet on Friday night was a joke. Our opponents totally sucked ass. Well, most of them anyway. Glen got his butt kicked on the mat by an opponent who wasn’t even all that good. I would’ve privately laughed about it, but it hurt the team. The guy I was up against was so inept I hardly had to try. It was such a disappointment. I’d been looking forward to a challenging match, but I felt like I was wrestling some grade-school kid. My opponent had muscle, but he didn’t have a clue about what to do with it. I just played with him until I was ready to pin him, mainly because he was kind of hot and I liked feeling his muscles. I got Glen after the meet. I knew he’d be the easiest, because he was the first, but I didn’t think it would be quite so effortless. He’d been running scared, but he was more concerned with putting the moves on girls than retreating to safety. I hung around after showering just in case I might get a chance at him. I’d noticed him lingering in the gym—dumb ass. I almost didn’t believe it when he was the very last to come in. By the time he went into the showers everyone was

Mark A. Roeder

287

gone. Coach Selby asked me to shut the gate on the locker room and lock it up as I left. He’d promised to take his boyfriend out that night and had to get home. Glen looked fearful as his eyes met mine. I didn’t say anything. I just let him dry off and get dressed. Glen was kinda hot. In another life…well, there was no reason to be thinking about that. Glen was nervous, that much was for certain. He suspected I was behind the notes and he knew he’d fucked up. He dressed quickly and tried to leave, but I stopped him by putting my hand on his chest. “I hope pain is something you enjoy,” I said, repeating my last note. All the color drained from his face. “Look, man, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Yeah, I helped rough up that kid, but you kicked our asses that night. It’s over, forgotten, okay?” He was trembling. “But it wasn’t over that night, was it, Glen?” “I don’t know what you mean.” “Liar.” He swallowed hard. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.” “At least have the balls to admit what you did, Glen. I guess you aren’t so brave when you’re alone, are you? Or was it the hood that gave you courage?” Glen took a swing at me. He knew the game was up. He sent a right cross flying for my face with all the strength he could muster. I was ready for it. I sidestepped his punch and nailed him in the gut. He doubled over and I punched him in the abdomen again. He charged me, wrapping his arms around my midsection, shoving me toward the lockers, but I broke his hold and smashed him in the jaw. From that point on, it was too easy. Glen was no match for me. He was strong, that was for sure, but not nearly as strong as I was. I beat the crap out of him for a total of perhaps a minute and a half. I wanted to keep on going much, much longer, but I could feel myself losing control, edging toward a savage viciousness that was dangerous. I pulled back and stood over Glen as he lay on the floor. “If you and your buddies ever jump me again, you just remember I’ll come right back at ya. This is just a little payback and a warning. If you losers jump me again, you’d better be prepared to finish the job, because if you don’t, I’ll hunt every one of you sons-of-bitches down and make you sorry you were ever born. You even tell them it was me who beat you up tonight, and I’ll fuck you up so bad your momma won’t even recognize you.”

Mark A. Roeder

288

I left him lying there, moaning. All and all, I hadn’t hurt him too bad, not nearly as badly as he deserved. When it came right down to it, I wasn’t a bully and Glen was definitely weaker than I was. I didn’t feel guilty for kicking his ass, however, as he brought it on himself. I little realized how close I was to getting caught when I walked out of the locker room. I nearly collided with Jarret who was on his way in. I quickly thought of ways to keep him out, but it was unnecessary. “I was wondering if um…we could…talk,” he said. He must’ve been waiting in the parking lot for me to come out and finally got impatient. If I hadn’t stopped with Glen when I did, Jarret would’ve walked in on us. “Come on,” I said. “We can talk in my car.” I led him to the Skyemobile. Jarret, climbing in the passenger side, was illuminated for a few moments by the overhead light. Damn he was hot. “So what do you want to talk about?” I asked, knowing full well, but intent on making him say the words. “I want to do it again.” “You what?” “I want you.” Jarret was practically panting. I was instantly aroused. “Aren’t you the guy who said he was just experimenting? Aren’t you the guy who’s been avoiding me?” Aren’t you the guy who helped your buddies kick my ass? “Listen, man, I was…wrong, okay? That shit freaked me out. You know what it’s like. You know how guys treat gays. If you weren’t stronger and tougher than everyone else, you’d be getting your ass kicked on a daily basis.” Jarret looked at me uncomfortably. Was that guilt that flashed in his eyes? “Yeah, I know. So you’re sayin’ you got scared.” “Yeah, man. Listen, I know I said some shit I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry. I was lying to you and I was lying to myself. When I told you I was just experimenting, well, I pretty much believed it. That’s what I’d convinced myself. I mean…I know I like girls and then after we did it I felt so guilty and…I got to thinking about what the guys would think and I pictured them calling me a fag…so I just decided I wasn’t—that I didn’t like it and I was just experimenting. So that made it kinda okay, but now…” “You want me.” Jarret gazed at me and licked his lips. “Yes.” “What makes you think I’m interested in giving you a second chance? How do I know you’re not just gonna turn on me again and start saying all that shit about how you aren’t really into it?”

Mark A. Roeder

289

“I promise, man, I won’t do that. I’ll do anything you want. Come on, I’m desperate.” I liked the words coming out of his mouth. He was turning me on with his talk about doing anything I wanted. That appealed to me. It had that whole alpha/beta male thing going that I’d only recently realized had sexual connotations. “It’s a little cold to be screwing in the cemetery. It is January after all,” I said, sounding disinterested. There was no need for him to know how badly I wanted to jump on him. “My parents are gone. They went to a party. We have until midnight at least.” “Okay,” I said, nodding. “I’ll meet you there.” Jarret climbed out. I had a slight suspicion it was some kind of setup, but how could Jarret openly lead me into a trap? There was desperation in his voice and lust in his eyes, too. That wasn’t faked. Jarret wanted me and he wanted me bad. I smiled as I pulled out of the school parking lot. This was gonna be fun. Jarret led me straight to his bedroom. Once there, I got aggressive. He’d said he would do anything I wanted, didn’t he? I needed sex. I needed it bad. I’d been on the prowl since the night Jarret and I got it on in the graveyard, but with no luck. It just wasn’t that easy hooking up with another guy in Verona, no matter how hot you looked. I grabbed Jarret and kissed him. He resisted by pushing against my chest, but I just held on and shot my tongue into his mouth. His resistance wavered and then collapsed. I kissed him like he’d never been kissed before. I ripped Jarret’s shirt over his head and pulled off mine as well. I pushed him to his knees and told him to get busy. He did as he was told and I found his submission as hot as his lips. I grabbed the back of his head and went to town. He was mine to do with as I pleased. I lost control way too fast. It’d been too long. I hadn’t even jerked off recently, so I went off like a shotgun. I made Jarret take it. I wanted more than anything to give Jarret a blowjob, but I was getting off on the whole domination aspect. He wanted it bad enough he was willing to submit to me and I intended to take advantage. It was a power rush. I told Jarret to take off his remaining clothes and he did. I stripped while he was getting naked. “You got condoms?” I asked. He pulled one out from the bottom of his drawer, some lube as well. The boy had planned ahead. He obviously wanted it again. “Lie face down on the bed.”

Mark A. Roeder

290

Jarret looked a bit frightened, but he was as aroused as he could be—one look at his crotch told me that. Jarret did as he was told without a word. I positioned myself above him and lowered my lips to his ear. Just before I stuck it in I whispered to him “You like being my bitch, don’t you?” I didn’t give him time to answer. I just took him. I can’t describe exactly what when on without getting too pornographic, so let’s just say I took advantage of Jarret. I held him down and used him. I’m not talking rape. He didn’t ask me to get off him. I would’ve if he’d asked, but he didn’t. I used him hard, though, revenging myself upon him for what he’d done to me. He was an object to me, there for my use and pleasure. Instead of beating him like Glen, I screwed his brains out. The thing was he liked it. He cried out for more. I wish I could tell you some of the things he said, but then this would be totally pornographic, so you’ll just have to imagine it for yourself—if you want. When I finished, I got up and pulled on my boxers and jeans. Jarret rolled off and I saw he’d found relief without either of us ever touching his manhood. It made me feel even more dominant over him. I stared down at him. “I know you were one of the guys who beat me,” I said. He stared at me, terrified, sure I’d mess him up. “I beat Glen up tonight, after the meet, right before you found me. Did Glen tell you about the notes?” Jarret shook his head, so I explained about the notes and about how I planned to send them to Alex and Jeremy too. “I’d planned to get you last of all, because I thought you were such a hypocrite, but then you came to me tonight.” “Don’t hurt me, please,” said Jarret. He was sitting on the edge of his bed naked, looking up at me, trembling. “Do you think I’d be telling you this if I intended to follow my original plan?” I asked. He uncertainly shook his head. “You want it again like I gave it to you tonight, don’t you?” I asked. Jarret nodded. “That was the most fantastic sex I’ve ever had. I’ve had these fantasies all my life and…you made them come true.” I smiled. “Then you don’t have to fear me, Jarret. You’re too much fun to hurt. You’re to tell the others nothing, however. Understand?” He nodded again. “You think I’d tell them about this?” he asked, indicating his bed. “I see your point.”

Mark A. Roeder

There was silence in the room for several moments. “It’s only eleven,” Jarret pointed out. “Let’s do it again.” I pulled off my jeans and boxers and walked toward the bed.

291

Oliver

“We need to talk,” I said as I walked by Ken’s side. “It sounds serious.” “It is.” Ken gazed at me, but said nothing. The only sound was the snow beneath our feet as we walked toward V.H.S. “It’s about us. I’ve been thinking…I really like you. We have fun when we’re together, and I sure like kissing you…” “But?” “But how can this work out? How can we have any kind of life together?” “Relationships don’t have to last forever to have meaning,” said Ken. “Very few last more than a few years. So what if we can’t live happily ever after? We can have some fun before it’s over and then go our separate ways. Don’t you have fun with me?” “You know I do.” “So then what’s the problem?” “I want more than just fun, you know? I didn’t think I knew what I wanted. I didn’t think I was ready for a boyfriend. But, I was wrong. I want to be with someone I can stick with. Maybe it will work out and maybe it won’t, but I at least want the possibility. We don’t have that.” Ken took a deep breath, or at least appeared to, since ghosts don’t breathe. He looked so real that most of the time I forgot. “It sounds like your mind is made up.” I nodded. “Are you angry?” - 292 -

Mark A. Roeder

293

“No. Disappointed, yes, but angry, no. I understand. I guess it can’t last, but I wanted to at least try. You’re so cute and were in such danger. I couldn’t stand to see you get hurt, or worse, end up like me. Maybe I got too involved, or maybe I just wanted a little of what I was cheated out of by Clay and his friends.” I felt like crying. Ken was so sad and pitiful, and it was my fault. “We can still be friends and…we can still kiss—if you want.” Ken grinned. “I want,” he said. He pulled me to him and kissed me.

Skye

With Jarret off my ass-kicking list, that left only Alex and Jeremy. Word spread that Glen was beat up after the wrestling meet, but he concocted a story about three guys from the rival team jumping him in the parking lot. It was evident he took my warning to heart and didn’t tell the others what had really happened, unless he spread his false story to put me off my guard and was waiting with his buds for a chance to get me. Jarret would’ve have told me if something like that was up, however, at least I think. I meant what I’d told Glen and he knew it. If they jumped me again, they’d better kill me, because as soon as I was able I’d come after them, and the second round would not be so pleasant as the first. I kept my guard up just in case. I wasn’t stupid. I made sure not to put myself in a position to be attacked again. I stuck close to friends and teammates I knew I could trust. I knew I was playing a dangerous game, so I took no chances. It’d gone well so far, but that didn’t mean the rest would be easy. Jarret didn’t know about the notes until I told him, so it was a good bet Alex and Jeremy didn’t either. That allowed me to maintain the element of surprise. I wondered why Glen hadn’t shared them. I was reasonably sure he wouldn’t talk now, but what kept him from showing his buddies the notes before I threatened him? Did he have other enemies? Had he been up to something on the side that would make someone want to beat him senseless? Who knew? Perhaps he hadn’t taken them seriously or just hadn’t seen any point in sharing them. Whatever the reason, it worked to my advantage. Alex was next on the hit list. He had a note waiting in his locker on Monday morning. - 294 -

Mark A. Roeder

295

Feeling healthy, Alex? Make sure your health insurance is paid up because you’re gonna need it. I’m coming for you, fucker.

I know, it wasn’t poetic or witty, but I was sure it would get the job done. Sure, it’s not scary to you because you’re sitting at home or wherever all nice and comfy and you don’t have to worry about me coming and kicking your ass. Alex didn’t have that luxury, however, and he didn’t know who sent him the note. He likely suspected, but even if he knew it was me that would’ve only made it worse. It was a busy time of year for me. I had way more to do than just send anonymous notes. There was my job at the farm store, of course, my workouts and school, and my appointed task kept me busy as well. I haven’t been telling you about every little time I’ve saved some boy’s butt, but rest assured I’ve been doing it. I can’t tell you everything, after all, or my story would be as long as my life. Don’t complain or I’ll start describing how I brush my teeth and boring shit like that. Greg Whitmore was one guy I didn’t have to go after again. He hadn’t been giving anyone trouble since Landon shot him. Maybe that was all it took to change a prejudiced jerk—getting shot. Since I didn’t see how I could go around shooting people without getting into trouble and seeing as how that just didn’t seem the way to handle things in any case, I did it the old-fashioned way. If the words fag, pillow-biter or queer were used in my presence, the speaker received a penetrating glare. If that wasn’t enough, I towered over him, punching the palm of my hand until he decided that keeping his mouth shut might be a good idea. You wouldn’t believe how many apologies I got without saying a word. I intervened when the words were directed at others, too, which was most of the time. Few dared to call me a fag, but many had no fears of calling someone like Oliver names. I developed a knack for spotting gay boys in distress. If I sensed trouble, I went in, and like as not I was right. I had to fight a few times, but not many. My reputation preceded me, and most bullies and prejudiced assholes just took off running at my approach. The number of incidents went down, too, likely because it was widely known I was not someone to mess with. I think word got out I’d been beaten in an attempt to stop me, and the attempt had failed. The anti-gay crowd knew I couldn’t be cowed. It was either kill me or don’t bother. I considered death a very real possibility. People were nuts after all. The news was always showing some scene where someone went crazy and blew away a

Mark A. Roeder

296

bunch of people for whatever reason. And then, there were all the gay bashings, where gays were beaten to death, burned to death, beheaded or whatever, so I knew it could happen to me. Better that than live life as a coward. I wasn’t gonna just lie down and take it, so it was either put up or shut up with me. I’d worked too damned long to be strong to be weak. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking again, but I know I’m not a superhero and I can’t save the whole world. I wish I could change the whole world for the better, but then a lot of people have that wish. I can’t, so I just do what I can, which is to make V.H.S. and Verona in general a safer place for guys like me—well, for gay boys, if you know what I mean. ✶

✶

✶

✶

“You sent it, didn’t you?” asked Alex on Monday before lunch. “Sent what, Alex?” “The note!” “And why do you think I’d send you a note, Alex?” I loved playing with him. He paused, then stammered. “Because I…used to pick on that kid, Oliver. You’re friends with him. You’ve got it in for me. Everyone knows you stand up for…your kind.” “And what kind would that be?” “Gay,” spat Alex. He was just itching to say “fag.” I could see it in his eyes. “Now, if you used to pick on him and don’t now, why would I still be after you?” “You just are, is all! No one else would threaten me like that!” “What’s wrong, Alex, are you scared?” He was frightened. He was putting up a brave front, but I could see through him. “Hmm, now why would I have it in for you,” I said, as if pondering the situation. I held my chin in my hand and looked at the ceiling. “Let’s see, could it have anything to do with a cowardly five-on-one attack on the football field, perhaps involving KKK hoods?” True terror struck Alex. His eyes widened. That’s right, fucker, I know it was you. I leaned in close and said, “When you least expect it, expect it. You’re going to pay Alex. Nobody jumps me and gets away with it. Just ask your buddy, Glen.” “You mean it wasn’t…”

Mark A. Roeder

297

“It was me, Alex. Go ahead, ask him. I’ll tell him it’s okay to tell you now. He couldn’t before on pain of…pain.” “You come near me and I’ll report you.” “Will you, Alex? Do you really want to explain why I’m after you? Do you really want anyone to know you and your buddies attacked me wearing KKK hoods? That’s not gonna look good now, is it?” “Please, man, I didn’t want to. Jeremy, he made me. He’s the one who made me do it!” “Uh huh. You’re a lousy liar, Alex, but even if you were telling the truth it wouldn’t make any difference. Expect it when you least expect it.” I walked away and left him trembling, my mind already moving onto the next step. Alex would probably run straight to Jeremy, so I figured I might as well send him a note, too. I could’ve denied sending the note, but as I stood there I realized revealing myself would terrify Alex more than remaining anonymous. It was a ballsy move which let him know I had no fear of him or his buddies. That wasn’t entirely true, but, as I’d made up my mind to forge ahead regardless of danger or death, it worked out just the same. I was going to be doubly hard to catch Alex or Jeremy alone, but even as I’d stood there with Alex, a new plan formed in my head. It was bold, dangerous and definitely fit with what I’d told Alex—expect it when you least expect it. I wasn’t going to wait until I could catch each of them alone. I was going to attack them together. Two against one wasn’t the best of odds. I estimated my chance of success at maybe 60/40. True, the two of them put together were stronger than I was, but I knew how to fight. I was confident I could keep the fight mostly one on one. Maybe I was overestimating my prowess and maybe it was crazy, but if I pulled it off there’d be no doubt that messing with me was a serious mistake. I could’ve just set up a meeting. With two against one, Alex and Jeremy might’ve met me to fight it out. I didn’t trust them, however. Likely as not, I’d be walking into a trap. No, I was going to do this my way and in my own good time. I had the element of surprise after all. They wouldn’t dream I’d take them both on at once. Before the end of the day, I began to hear rumors that Glen hadn’t been beat up by guys from another school at all. He’d been worked over by me because he said the wrong thing at the wrong time. Word was that I was going after Alex and Jeremy, too. Nothing stayed a secret for very long at V.H.S. I wondered how Ben and Jarret were faring. Were their buddies getting suspicious? Were they wondering how I’d found out who attacked me? Were they

Mark A. Roeder

298

wondering why Ben and Jarret hadn’t been threatened? Of course, I hadn’t sent Jeremy a note yet either, but I’d take care of that soon enough. I almost laughed my ass off that evening when Jarret walked into Wahlberg’s and pleaded with me to shove a note in his locker. “They’re going to start asking questions, man,” he said, looking nervously at Oliver. I’d refused to speak to Jarret privately, telling him I had no secrets from Oliver, which wasn’t entirely true. “So tell them the truth.” “I can’t do that. I can’t tell ’em I’m…” “Gay,” I said. “Bi.” “I guess I could knock you around and give you some bruises,” I suggested, having a little fun with him. “Come on, Skye! I need some help here.” “Jarret, did you ever think of writing your own note and saying you found it in your locker? I don’t know why I keep you around.” I knew, but I wasn’t about to tell him. Besides, if I said it out loud, Oliver would turn beet red. Jarret smacked his head, realizing the depth of his own stupidity. The notes were typed and unsigned. Anyone could make one. “Okay, duh, but we both know why you keep me around.” I wanted to take him right there in the store, but it wasn’t the place for that. I could just imagine a customer walking in. I didn’t want to shock Oliver either. If he saw what Jarret and I did together, it might stunt his growth or somethin’. Hearing about it would be bad enough, but seeing it…that was another matter entirely. I grabbed Jarret and kissed him passionately before he could stop me. That much at least I could do. Jarret struggled for a moment, but then gave in and kissed me back. “I get off at nine,” I said, when our lips parted. “Meet me at my house.” Jarret grinned slyly. It was great having my own personal slave. Oliver started whistling as soon as Jarret left, as if he hadn’t seen a thing. His look of innocence was comical. It busted me up. Soon, we were both laughing. When we calmed down, I explained what was going on to Oliver—going on with my revenge, that is—not what was going on with Jarret and me, although it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. Oliver didn’t look too happy about my plan of revenge. He looked almost like he was going to cry when he grabbed my forearm and said, “Be careful, Skye.”

Oliver

I walked into the gay-youth center for the first time in weeks. I can’t begin to describe how I’d missed it. It felt like home. I sat on the couch as kids ambled in. Sean and Nick arrived together—no surprise there, because they were joined at the lip. Soon after, Clay walked in, looking handsome and downright sexy. His personality, his friendly smile—all of it added to his physical appeal. The feeling I got looking at him was so at odds with what I knew about him it seemed impossible he could’ve done the horrible things that lay in his past. My heart rejected the very idea. My mind had quite a task reminding me he was not what he seemed. Clay approached me as these thoughts ran through my head. “Mind if I sit here?” he asked, indicating the space beside me. I gestured that it was okay. Both Sean and Nick were eyeing Clay as if they would jump him if he tried anything, but what could he do surrounded by so many others? I was perfectly safe sitting by him on the couch. “Listen, I know you have a boyfriend and I respect that, but…I’d still like to be friends. You said he was the jealous type, but we wouldn’t have to do anything that would make him jealous—just hang out or get some ice cream or something. I promise to keep my hands in view at all times.” Clay laughed nervously. How did I get myself into these situations? My heart yearned for Clay—to hang out with him, eat ice cream with him, do anything with him, but my mind was screaming at me to avoid him at all costs—telling me he was not what he seemed. The trouble is, my heart wouldn’t accept it. It kept telling me he was exactly what he seemed to be, but how could that be so when one of the very boys - 299 -

Mark A. Roeder

300

he’d helped to kill had come back to point the finger of guilt at him? Looking at Clay, I couldn’t believe he would hurt anyone. He seemed the kind of boy who would cry if he thought he caused another pain. I felt like I was attempting to shove two pieces of a puzzle together that just wouldn’t fit, no matter how hard I tried. “I’ll…think about it,” I said. “At the least, we can hang out here, okay?” Clay smiled. I wanted to kiss him. All my feelings for him rose to the surface, but this time they didn’t torment me. Instead, they consumed me. Was I falling under his spell? I wanted to change reality. I wanted Clay to be the Clay I’d always thought he was—not the secret Clay that Ken had revealed. Why couldn’t things just work out like I wanted? The meeting began, and I attempted to listen to Ethan and Nathan as they talked about the difficulties of coming out. It was important stuff, especially for me, but I was distracted by Clay. “It’s important to be comfortable with yourself and true to yourself,” said Ethan. “Coming out can be a part of that, but the right moment to come out is different for everyone. For some, doing so when young is the appropriate time. For others, the right time comes much later in life.” “I’m scared my parents will freak out and kick me out of the house,” said Noah Cummings. He usually didn’t talk all that much during meetings, so he’d probably been thinking a lot about it. “That’s a legitimate concern,” said Nathan. “If coming out will place you in jeopardy, it’s best to wait until you feel safe. Some parents do disown their son or daughter when they find out he or she is gay. It’s an unfortunate situation that should never take place, but the truth is, it does. Often, parents and friends are far more accepting than one would believe, but that isn’t always the case.” “Well, my dad said if he found out one of his kids is queer, he would kick them out on the street and I think he means it,” said Noah. “In your case,” said Nathan, “I think it would be best to keep quiet about your sexual orientation. Some parents who say such things turn out to be accepting after all, but sometimes not. You’re young, you can’t support yourself, and you need to finish school, so I’d advise not coming out to your parents until you’re out of the house and financially secure.” Noah nodded. “It’s hard to tell how someone will react to the news,” said Ethan. “Before I came out, I was deathly afraid my friends wouldn’t accept me. I thought I’d be ostracized and hated. I was more or less forced to come out, but it turned out to be a good thing for me. I’d judged my friends wrong and most of them were very

Mark A. Roeder

301

accepting. I grew even closer to some of them. It also gave me a good feeling to know they accepted me just as I was. Before coming out, I’d always wondered if my friends were really my friends, or if they would turn on me if they knew the truth. Coming out erased those doubts. I think that’s one of the main benefits of coming out. You know who your real friends are.” “Yeah,” said Sean. “A few people I knew distanced themselves from me when they found out I liked boys, but I figure I don’t need people in my life who are that shallow anyway. Being out helps me to sort people out. If they can’t deal with me being gay, then it’s their loss. And being out allows me to kiss my boyfriend at school!” “Watch yourself, Sean,” said Ethan, but he was smiling. “For me, one of the negative aspects of not coming out,” said Ethan, “is that it made me feel bad about myself. I had a very good self image overall, but I had some difficulty accepting that I was gay. Once I did accept it, I had this sense of keeping part of myself secret because I feared others would react negatively. Having a part of myself that I felt I couldn’t reveal damaged my self-esteem. When I came out, I felt good about my sexual orientation. I knew that was the way I was meant to be. Before I came out it seemed wrong somehow. Why hide something if it’s not wrong? Coming out brought that part of myself out of hiding and eliminated the feelings of shame that hiding it created. “The most important thing is to accept yourself first. If you do that, then coming out to others will be much easier. A lot of people have a lot to say about homosexuality. There are a lot of religious objections to it, but what you must understand is that those objections are based in prejudice. People interpret the Bible the way they want, so when they condemn gays they’re only taking their own prejudice and interpreting the Bible to fit it. I don’t think we have time to delve into religion and homosexuality today, but don’t let anyone tell you there’s something wrong with you because you are gay or bisexual. Being gay or bisexual is just as natural as being heterosexual. There is a lot of information out there that says otherwise, but when you get down to biology it’s a simple fact that homosexuality, bisexuality and heterosexuality are all natural states. So, in other words, there’s nothing wrong with you if you’re gay.” The discussion went on, but it was hard to stay with it—not because I wasn’t interested, but because Clay was sitting beside me. I still had a crush on him. What’s more, I think I loved him. But how could I? Knowing what I knew about him, how could I look at him with anything but revulsion? After the discussion, Clay joined Sean, Nick and me in a game of Monopoly. Sean was a bit cool toward him, but I could tell he was trying to act as if nothing

Mark A. Roeder

302

was out of the ordinary. Sean obviously didn’t want to tip Clay off that we were onto him. While we played, my worries disappeared. I forgot all about how Clay was supposed to be some kind of monster and just enjoyed his company. Sean and Nick teamed up, doing some trades that benefited each other, and messed up my plans bad. My sad little light blue monopoly of Connecticut, Vermont, and Oriental Avenues didn’t stand up against their attack for very long. The hotels I’d worked so hard to build soon turned into houses. A stay at Pennsylvania Avenue, owned by Nick, wiped out the last of my little green houses. I still had a lot of fun, though. I didn’t need to win to enjoy a game. I nearly went with Clay for a walk in the park after our game broke up, but my mind was warning me against it, and Sean and Nick were watching. I knew they wouldn’t allow it. I made up an excuse that I had to go straight home and Clay left looking sad and lonely. As soon as he was gone, I turned to Sean and Nick. “Guys, I’m not so sure about Clay. I know what Ken told us, but he just doesn’t seem the type to be in on a murder.” “Murders,” corrected Sean. “A lot of those serial killers don’t seem to be the type either. It’s always on TV. Some neighbor is always saying “he was such a nice guy” or “he shoveled my walk for me in the winter” or something like that. “I know what you’re saying,” I said. “It’s just that in my heart I know he didn’t do it. I know it’s crazy because we have an eyewitness, but my heart tells me we’re wrong.” “He does seem really nice,” said Nick. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Oliver. He’s in love. The idea that he wants to kill you just doesn’t seem to fit.” “Are you guys crazy or what?” asked Sean, angrily. “We know what he did. Ken saw him. He saw him there when he was killed. Clay was in on it and was probably in on the other murders. Talking as if Clay maybe didn’t do it is crazy. We know he did! He may even have helped to kill Marty!” Tears were welling in Sean’s eyes. “We know all that, Sean,” said Nick, much more calmly than his boyfriend, “and you’re probably right that Clay is guilty, but try to understand what Oliver is saying too. I usually get feelings about people, about what they’re like inside, and I don’t sense anything evil in Clay.” “Well, maybe your sense is off,” said Sean. “Maybe.” “Don’t you guys see that this is what makes Clay so dangerous?” said Sean. “He seems like a nice guy who wouldn’t hurt a fly. That’s probably how he’s gotten away with it, and it’s probably how he lured Ken and the others to their

Mark A. Roeder

303

deaths. I don’t care what your heart is telling you, Oliver, you stay away from him or your parents will be identifying your body in the morgue.” “You ready to go?” Sean asked Nick. “I think I’ll help Dad clean things up,” said Nick, “and maybe walk Oliver home.” “Okay, Babe, just watch out for Clay.” “I will. I love you.” “I love you, too.” They kissed. It made me feel all warm inside. Now there was what it was like to have a boyfriend. After Sean had gone, Nick turned to me. “I believe what you say about Clay. I’ve been thinking the same thing myself.” “Yeah, I know it’s crazy like Sean said, but I’ve just got this feeling…you know?” “Yeah.” “Crazy seems to be the theme of my life now anyway. Finding out Ken is a ghost has kind of blown the door wide open on that one.” “No doubt,” said Nick, laughing. “So…what are you going to do about Clay?” “I dunno. I’ve always liked him. I’ve had a crush on him forever. I’ve got to know for sure before I condemn him. I think I’m going to feel him out. He wants to go and do some stuff, just as friends. I think I’m going to and just see what happens.” “I don’t know, Oliver. That could be extremely dangerous. What if you’re wrong and he’s just what Ken said he is?” “I’ll be careful. I won’t let him get me alone. I’ll hang out somewhere public with him, where there’s lots of people.” “Be very careful, Oliver. Don’t take any risks.” “Yes, Mom.” “I’m serious! You’re playing a dangerous game, Oliver!” “I know and I’ll be careful. I promise.” I was silent for a few moments. “You know, I’ve begun to wonder about Ken.” “Wonder what?” asked Nick. “My heart tells me something about him too. It tells me not to trust him.” “Are you sure you aren’t just feeling what you want to feel? I thought you were head over heels in love with him?” “I have…feelings for him. I love him, kind of, but…I don’t know…there’s something…not quite right about him.”

Mark A. Roeder

304

“Well, he is a ghost.” “That could be it. I’ve never hung out with a ghost before, but still, there’s something more. I’m not sure he’s what he seems either.” Nick shrugged his shoulders. “Want me to walk you home?” “No. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.” “Just be careful with Clay. I think you should let Sean, or Skye or me know when you’re going to do something with him so we can tag along from a distance, just in case. Yeah, that’s exactly what you should do. Promise me.” I nodded. “Say it.” “I promise. See you later, Nick.” “Later.” I walked out of the gay-youth center into the chill January wind. The snow drifted around my feet, but I paid little attention. I was lost in my own thoughts.

Skye

Jarret was waiting on me when I got home from work. The problem was, he was waiting inside. Janelle and Colin were home. I thought she’d said she was going to be out. That definitely screwed up my plans of wild, loud sex with Jarret. I sat on the couch by Jarret and talked with him and Janelle, while Colin climbed over us and we wrestled with him. My eyes met Jarrets. Pure sexual desire was what I read there. Why did my sister have to be home? I guess it was better than her walking in on us. She knew I was gay, everyone knew, but I didn’t want her walking in on me having sex. It wasn’t because I was gay either. It would’ve been just the same if I was with a girl. I was going out of my mind just sitting there on the couch when I wanted to be writhing naked with Jarret on my bed. After half an hour, I just couldn’t take it anymore. “You ready to go work out?” I asked Jarret, raising my eyebrows. “Yeah, sure.” I was glad he quickly caught on and didn’t just give me a confused look. Moments later we were in my room. I locked the door, pulled Jarret to me and kissed him roughly. The feel of his body against mine, even through our clothes, drove me wild. I pushed him to his knees. I couldn’t carry out my plan of using Jarret as my sex slave for the night, but he did give good head. He went at it like he was starved for it, which was probably the case. I guess all that pent up desire had exploded to freedom. I pulled my shirt off as Jarret went to work. I loved looking down at him on his knees. I sure didn’t mind the way he made me feel either. Wow! - 305 -

Mark A. Roeder

306

Okay, you have no idea how hard it is not to get pornographic when telling you about stuff like this, but I’m trying. I would just leave the sex out, but you gotta know I can score, right? Anyway, it’s my story and I want it in. I pulled Jarret to his feet before I got too close and told him to strip. I loved watching him carry out my commands. I loved his muscular body too. I stripped as well and went down on him, but not on my knees. I pushed him back on the bed and climbed on top of him. He moaned too loudly and I had to tell him to shut up. When I got him all worked up, I stood, pulled my supplies out of my dresser drawer, and prepared for safe sex. I went back to the bed, pulled Jarret’s legs up over my shoulders and slid it in. Ecstasy. That’s the only way to describe the feeling of going inside Jarret. He loved it as much as me. I had to shove a pillow in his face so he’d keep quiet. He bit down on it, muffling his moans. Somehow, I managed to keep my grunts, moans, and groans to a minimum. I used him, but that’s how he liked it. I wondered briefly what made some guys want to submit to others, but I didn’t think about it much. Instead, I enjoyed it. I used Jarret knowing he craved it as much as I. I was developing better control, so I lasted a good long time. Jarret didn’t ask me to stop, so I just kept on going. When I was close, I leaned over, bit at his ear and then whispered “you like being my bitch, don’t you?” That sent Jarret right over the edge. He lost control, moaned loudly into the pillow, and made a big mess all over his chest and six-pack abs. The sight pushed me over the edge too and I used all the control I had to keep from moaning out loud. Now that was sex! I looked down at Jarret and smiled. “We’ve got to do this more often,” I said. He nodded his agreement. ✶

✶

✶

✶

I watched as Jeremy and Alex jogged off together into the woods. They were running along the trails behind the soccer fields that were used by the track team for cross-country practice. We’d run there a few times for football practice, but we did our running for wrestling practice inside the gym. It was too freaking cold to be running outside. Perhaps Jeremy and Alex were weak in the head. I didn’t bother running after them. I knew they’d be back sooner or later. Since I was taking them both on at once it might even things out a bit if they were winded. I strolled along the trail under the leafless trees, picking out a spot

Mark A. Roeder

307

where they’d suddenly pop up on me on their return. I stood at the edge of the trail for several minutes, mentally preparing myself. I was a talented fighter. I just had to remain focused and fight through whatever pain they inflicted. I not only had to win this fight, I had to win it well. I heard heavy footfalls approaching. I stood, crossed my arms, and waited. In only a few moments, Jeremy and Alex jogged into view. They halted when they caught sight of me. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” said Jeremy. “You’re going to take us both on?” “No. I’m going to stomp both your asses into the ground, you fucking cowards.” Alex looked frightened, but Jeremy shook his head. “You’re ego is going to be the death of you, Skye.” “Not today,” I said laughing. That pissed Jeremy off. “Let’s do it,” he said, raising his fists. I know they were expecting me to circle them and look for an opening. Instead, I charged Jeremy and took him to the ground. I slugged him in the face before he had a chance to recover. Alex jumped on me, of course, I knew that was coming, but I wanted to shake Jeremy up. I wanted to show him I wasn’t afraid to go right for his throat. Alex managed a clumsy punch to my lats before I shook him off. Jeremy was back on his feet by then, took a swing at my face, and missed. I laughed at him and punched him the gut. His fist contacted with my jaw almost immediately after, rattling my teeth, but I’d known from the beginning it wasn’t going to be an easy fight. Alex came up behind me and tried to pin my arms behind my back, but I grabbed his forearm, flipped him over my shoulder, and slammed him onto his back. It knocked the wind out of him. Jeremy pounced on me and knocked me over, jabbing me in the lats with two swift punches. I rolled onto my back and kicked his left calf. It was the only target in reach. He stumbled and I swept his leg, bringing him down. Unfortunately, he fell on me. I grabbed him by the throat and choked him until I had a chance to punch him in the face once more. Alex kicked me in the back of the head and I saw stars. I rolled, jumped to my feet, and launched myself at him. I punched him twice in the face, snapping his head back, and once in the stomach before he attempted to kick me in the balls. He missed, but grazed me and it hurt like hell. Jeremy jumped on me and locked his forearm around my neck from behind. I couldn’t breathe. Alex was in bad shape, but he punched me hard in the abs twice

Mark A. Roeder

308

before I kicked him in the nuts. He doubled over, groaning in pain. Alex was out of it, at least for the time being. I elbowed Jeremy in the ribs and made him let go. I turned and jabbed him in the abs. He threw himself at me and I got him square in the face. I knocked him backwards and pounced on him. In moments, I had him on his back, pounding his face. He stopped trying to hit back and started trying to fend off the blows while he called to Alex for help. Alex was too busy writhing on the ground in pain to come to his aid. I hated Jeremy. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to just keep punching him, over and over, harder and harder, until he gasped out his last breath. I felt something wild and primitive within myself. I liked hurting him. I realized at that moment I held the lives of both those boys in my hands. I could’ve killed them both if I wanted. This was the danger Taylor had warned me about. This was the very thing I’d considered before the first punch was thrown. Without Taylor’s warning I might or might not have lost control. I don’t know. But with it I knew I could not give in to the untamed violence that threatened to consume me. “You had enough?” I asked Jeremy. His face was bloody. He was missing two teeth. He nodded, tears filling his eyes. I got off him and let him curl into a ball, groaning in pain. Alex had rolled into a sitting position and was looking up at me with fear in his eyes. “How about you?” “I’ve had enough,” he said meekly. “Then I guess we’re done here. Don’t ever make me do this again. I might learn to enjoy it.” I walked back the way I’d come, somewhat the worse for wear, but looking no where near as bad as Alex and Jeremy. ✶

✶

✶

✶

I sat on a park bench, shivering in the chill air. It was all over, unless one or more of the Nazis were stupid enough to come at me again, which I sincerely doubted. If they did, I’d be ready, but I felt I had little to fear from that quarter. “It’s not like you thought it would be, is it?” I was hardly surprised at all to find Taylor sitting next to me. It was funny. I was used to being gay now. I was accustomed to my own personal angel coming and going at will. What was next?

Mark A. Roeder

309

“I feel…empty. I’ve done what I set out to do, but it’s not like winning a football game or a wrestling match, or moving up my weight on the chest press. I don’t feel like celebrating. I just feel…blah.” “So getting your revenge hasn’t made you happy?” “No. I think I had to do what I did to those guys; otherwise they would’ve just kept coming at me. When it got right down to it, though, hurting them didn’t make me happy like I thought it would. I’ve always been aggressive. I love to fight, but this…it just felt like…” “Like you were the bully?” “Yeah, that’s it exactly. I feel I was in the right. I was doing it for the right reasons, but it still felt…wrong.” “Maybe you’ve grown a conscience, Skye. Maybe you’ve witnessed enough suffering it’s not so easy to deal out pain anymore.” I frowned. I felt distinctly unhappy. “I feel like I haven’t made any difference at all. Yeah, the jerks at school are afraid to say “fag” and kids like Oliver don’t get picked on nearly as much anymore, but what about after I’d gone? I’m not going to be in high school forever and when I’m gone it will be back to business as usual.” “Maybe not,” said Taylor. “Oh, that’s the way it will be. When I’m gone, the bullies won’t be afraid anymore. When the fear is gone, so is the control.” “Then maybe you shouldn’t rule by fear.” “How else am I gonna rule? Fear is all jerks like Glen, Alex, Jeremy and all the rest understand.” “Maybe you should try to lead instead of rule, Skye. Play to your strengths, lead by example.” “My strength is strength. I have muscles. I have athletic talent. What am I gonna do with that besides keep the jerks in line?” “Skye, you have what a lot of boys dream about. Right or wrong, many of them want to look like you—they want to be you—and here you are, you’ve got all this and you’re gay. A gay boy is the one everyone looks up to. For decades lies have been spread about gays. We’ve been painted in the ugliest, foulest manner possible, but here you stand in all your masculine beauty, the very essence of the ideal straight boy, only you’re not straight, you’re gay. The message that sends is beyond price. It breaks the stereotypes. It smashes the falsehoods. Gays have been depicted as weak, perverted, and unnatural for so long many people believe it. But you, you’re gay and you’re not afraid for anyone to know it. You can be an example that there are all kinds of gay boys out there, just like there are all kinds

Mark A. Roeder

310

of boys. If you can be gay, then anyone can, and if anyone can, what can be wrong with it?” “That makes a lot of sense,” I said, but then laughed. “But, I can’t be an example. I’m conceited. A lot of the time I think only of myself. I…” “You don’t have to be perfect,” said Taylor. “No one is. You just have to be you.” I nodded. Taylor had given me a lot to think about. I was beginning to feel better. “So,” I said, changing the subject, “what happens after you die?” I turned to look at Taylor and he was gone. “I knew you’d do that! I knew it! Come back here and answer me dammit!” I started laughing. What else could I do?

Oliver

“Ken,” I said, surprised, although I should not have been. I never knew when he would pop up. “Mind if I join you?” he asked. “Of course not.” I was on my walk, between school and work, burning off a few calories and keeping myself away from the Ding Dongs and Twinkies that tempted me at home. I was getting stronger, however, and it was easier to resist. “Are you mad at me?” I asked. “No. I told you that before. I’m disappointed, but not angry. I think you’re throwing away what we could’ve had prematurely. Think of it—a boyfriend who’ll never die.” “But that’s because you’re already dead. Just how often could you be with me?” “An hour or so here and there, perhaps as much as three in a day. I’m getting stronger, Oliver, and my strength will only increase. In the beginning, I couldn’t even appear as solid, only as a gray mist, but look at me now. Someday, I might be able to be with you always.” His words made me think. If he was getting stronger, then couldn’t our relationship work? Even as the thought passed through my mind, I felt the warning in my heart that told me Ken was not what he seemed. Oh, I knew he was a ghost and not a boy, but there was some deeper, darker secret hidden within him. I just knew it. Ken gazed into my eyes, looking almost as if he could read my thoughts. - 311 -

Mark A. Roeder

312

“Well, it’s something to consider, Oliver. You can think about it. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be around even long after you’re gone.” Ken was scaring me, but his words were true. I would die someday. He would not, because he was already dead. I might end up as a ghost like him, or perhaps I’d have another destiny. I didn’t think I wanted to linger as a ghost, however, it seemed an unhappy fate. We walked a good while in silence, just gazing at the snow on the pine trees and beneath our feet. The whole world seemed sparkling white just then. It was beautiful, but already I’d begun to yearn for a little color. That was the trouble with Verona—winter lasted too long. We passed the high school and walked on to the soccer fields. They too were covered with a blanket of white—beautiful, but less so than in spring and summer when they were green and alive. The empty soccer field gave me an almost desolate feeling. We passed the big boulder with the plaque on it dedicating the fields to the two long dead soccer players. Ken smirked as we passed it and it gave me a chill. “You’ve been talking to Clay,” he said, matter of factly. “Yes.” I quickly looked into his eyes. How did he know? “I told you not to do that. I told you he is dangerous.” We walked on across the fields and into the woods. Ken said nothing more. He merely waited for me to speak. “It was only at the gay youth meeting. I was safe. Sean and Nick and the others were near. He couldn’t have hurt me there.” Ken peered at me, turning only his eyes upon me as he forged ahead. “You doubt my word.” “I…uh…” “You don’t believe Clay is dangerous.” “I…uh…I…” “You think I’m a liar.” “No! I don’t think that. It’s just…I don’t know. When I look at Clay, I can feel he’s good, just like…” “Go on,” said Ken sharply. I began to be frightened. Ken’s features seemed altered. He wasn’t so beautiful anymore. His face was contorted with anger. “It’s…nothing. Are you sure about Clay? I mean…maybe you saw someone else. Maybe…” “You are NOT saying what you mean!” said Ken loudly. I flinched and stepped back from him.

Mark A. Roeder

313

“You’re afraid of me,” said Ken. “I…I…” “You should be.” I truly was afraid then—the feeling he was not what he seemed increased a hundred times and more. I wanted to turn and run. We’d walked a good distance along the forest path and I felt distinctly unsafe. “I thought I could make you stay away from him,” said Ken, coldly. His words had an edge to them, like sharpened steel. “I thought you would have sense enough to keep your distance from him if I told you your life was in danger.” Did I hear footsteps coming to meet us? “I don’t understand.” “Of course you don’t, fool.” Tears came to my eyes. “I’ve…I’ve got to go.” “I’m afraid not. I didn’t want it to end this way, but you leave me little choice. Perhaps it’s my fault. I thought you’d be more trusting. I thought you’d take the word of a murdered boy.” I stared at him, looking not so much with my eyes as with my soul. I slowly shook my head. “You’re not Ken.” He smiled and then laughed. “Very good, Oliver, you deserve a bonus point. None of the other fools in this pathetic little town have figured that out yet.” “Who are you? What are you?” “Oh, I’m a ghost like you think, more or less, a spirit really, but not Ken, oh no, that one has gone on and I doubt anyone will be seeing him again.” “What is your name?” Ken, the ghost, the spirit, whatever he or it was closed his eyes for a moment as if concentrating. He was beginning to fade. “Anger drains my ability to remain solid,” he said, “so I must remain calm. The end is what matters, after all, not the means.” He seemed to be speaking to himself, rather than me. I did not understand what he was saying anyway. I knew I should turn and run, but I could not. Perhaps he had some power over me or perhaps it was my own curiosity. What was that old saying? Curiosity killed the cat? I just hoped it wouldn’t be the death of me. I was certain I heard someone walking toward us, hurrying along, from the opposite direction.

Mark A. Roeder

314

“HELP!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I feared I would only get one chance to cry out. Who knew what powers the spirit beside me held? Ken or whatever he was didn’t seem in the least upset by my plea for help. He laughed. It was a more frightening sound than his angry words before. A group of five boys rushed toward us—big, tall, and muscular. I recognized them. They were football players and wrestlers too. I saw that one was missing teeth. I turned and bolted, but too late. One of the jocks tackled me. I came up fighting but it was useless. Soon, each of my arms was held in a vice-like grip. I struggled futilely. “I’ll let my friends take it from here,” said the spirit I’d known as Ken. He was becoming less solid by the moment, fading before my eyes. “Kill him,” I heard him say, before he disappeared completely. I fought, but they dragged me farther down the path. This is it, I thought, I’m going to die.

Skye

What do you do when it’s all over, after the big battle has been fought and won? It’d been a few days since I’d enacted my revenge on the last of my attackers. I was lying back on my bed, my hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling. I felt as if I lacked purpose now. I’m not sure why. I had plenty of work to do. Just because some bullies had been taught a lesson, and one had been turned to my side, didn’t mean all was said and done. I felt as if I’d come to the end, but I knew it wasn’t true. Still, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling. What remained to be accomplished would be too easy and therefore seemed almost insignificant. I knew that wasn’t true either. Abuse was a great wrong, whether it was verbal or physical, and I could do a great deal to bring it to an end, at least in my little corner of the world. It was a fairly simple matter for me, but the ease with which I accomplished it didn’t lessen its importance. That’s what I was trying to remind myself. I was thinking too of Taylor’s words—of how I was the stereotypical straight jock who most boys wanted to be, only I wasn’t straight, I was gay. I knew he was right. I knew a lot of gay boys probably looked at me and felt better about themselves because I was one of them. Yeah, you’re thinking it again—I’m conceited, right? Okay, I’ll admit it, maybe I am, at least a little, but I was beginning to understand I had my muscles and my looks for a reason. I wasn’t the way I was just for my sole benefit. There was a purpose that went far beyond just me. This might surprise you, but I liked that. My life so far had been pretty freaking fantastic, but I didn’t want to live just for myself. There was too much to be done, too many boys out there who needed me to stick up for them until they could - 315 -

Mark A. Roeder

316

stand up for themselves. It wasn’t only boys either. I’d never stepped in to help an older guy, or a female, because that situation had never arose, but I knew they needed help too and I’d help them when the time came. I’d help them all if I could. I’d always felt powerful and in control, but I was fast learning I wasn’t as strong as I thought. Oh, I could out lift and out fight about anyone, but the world seemed to have grown. I couldn’t bear to see some kid like Oliver being knocked around and I knew it was going on all over the place, not just in Verona, but everywhere. I wanted to always be there for those who needed help, but I sure couldn’t be everywhere at once. Hell, I was still in high school! And what about when I was gone? I’m not just talking about graduating from high school someday. I wouldn’t live forever. I wouldn’t remain strong forever either. Someday, I’d grow old and weak and would no longer be able to step in and help those in need. I wished I could be young and strong forever, not for the sake of eternal youth, although I wouldn’t mind that, but for the sake of always being able to help. See, I’m not so selfish after all, am I? Okay, I’ll admit I was selfish, but things have happened to change that. I think the transformation happened when I started to care. I almost wish I hadn’t, because caring hurts, but then again I’ve gotta admit that stepping in and kicking ass is a rush! I needed some exercise. I slipped my feet off the side of the bed and stood. It was time for a workout. My muscles needed it—I needed it. I pulled my shirt over my head, turned toward my Bowflex, and then jerked back with a start. “You scared the crap out of me!” I said. “Don’t do that!” It was Taylor, of course, who else had the ability to just appear out of thin air? It’s not a trick for the living. He looked different this time—sad, almost grief-stricken. “What’s wrong?” I asked, fear clutching at my heart. “Oliver is in lethal danger—in the woods, behind the soccer fields.” That’s all I needed to know. I pulled my shirt back on and ran from the room, to the Skyemobile, and tore out for the high school. I fought to calm myself, but I cared too much about Oliver to be successful. I couldn’t bear to think of him hurt and Taylor had said “lethal danger.” Lethal— that meant he could die. Taylor had never used that word before. My hands were shaking. I forced myself to focus. I had to have my wits about me to find Oliver in time and save him from whatever danger he was in. I thought of Clay. Shit. That was the only explanation. Something had gone wrong. Despite the precautions, Clay had managed to get him. Oliver wasn’t

Mark A. Roeder

317

supposed to go anywhere alone. Had he done so, only to be grabbed by Clay? Clay had been a part of murder before. I drove faster. I sped across the parking lot. I didn’t stop. I ran the Skyemobile up the short incline that led to the soccer fields. It was snow covered and slick, but my trusty car handled it with barely a slip. I hit the gas and raced across the soccer fields, speeding across the frozen ground. I slid to a halt just before the beginnings of the trails. I jumped out and ran. The cold air hit my bare arms and sliced through my shirt, but I barely noticed it. All my thought was bent on reaching Oliver in time. I’d failed Landon. I would not fail again. I ran up the trail, my sneakers slipping and sliding, following the footprints that led into the woods. There were two sets. Had Oliver been foolish enough to come here alone with Clay, or had Clay grabbed him elsewhere and forced him here? The first seemed more likely. Clay couldn’t drive and there was no car in sight. I couldn’t imagine Oliver being stupid enough to go anywhere with him alone, though. It didn’t make sense! I ran on until the pair of footprints I followed turned into a confused mass. The snow was so trampled in a small area that I could make nothing out. Several sets of footprints had come from in the other direction, however, and had turned back upon themselves. I was more confused than ever, but ran on, following the obvious trail. There were no prints leading back in the direction I’d come or going off to the side, so Oliver must’ve gone with the group, willing or not. My fear increased as I ran. How much time had passed? What if I was too late? Surely Taylor wouldn’t have sent me to rescue Oliver when it was too late to do so? Why didn’t he save Oliver himself? He was a freaking angel after all! He could do anything, I supposed. He could sure get there faster than me. As these thoughts passed through my mind another formed; Everything happens for a reason. Was it my own thought, or was it placed there by another? I wasn’t sure and it gave me little comfort. What if Oliver died? If everything happened for a reason, there could be reason in his death. People died all the time, some of them painfully. If everything happened for a reason, then wasn’t there a reason behind even the most brutal murder? If so, then the worst tragedy imaginable could befall Oliver or anyone. No, the thought gave me no comfort. It filled me with fear and dread. My breath came hard and fast. The frigid air attacked my lungs. Running was painful, but pain didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting to Oliver in time. I skidded to a halt. The prints led off the trail, but I had no need of them anymore. I could see a small knot of guys gathered around one in the center. I didn’t

Mark A. Roeder

318

have to see him to know it was Oliver. He had one boy holding each of his arms. So far, he looked undamaged. One of his captors spotted me. It was Jeremy, still missing his teeth. “Let him go!” I demanded, stepping closer, my chest heaving, needles of ice attacking my lungs. “You are the persistent one, aren’t you?” spat Jeremy. “And you’re the one too stupid to learn. I thought I’d taught you a lesson.” “Oh, you taught me one, Skye. You taught me I’d have to kill you to stop you; otherwise you’ll just keep coming back.” I crossed my arms and glared at him. “Does picking on boys half your size mean that much to you?” I asked. Jeremy laughed. “You don’t get the big picture, do you, Skye? Or, should I say, you can’t see the forest for the trees.” He held his arms out, indicating the woods around us. I tried not to let confusion show on my face, but failed. “You really don’t understand, do you, but then you always were a bit slow. I guess that’s why you’ve worked so hard to build yourself up—to make up for your lack of intelligence.” “If I’m so stupid then, explain it to me.” “Ah,” he said, holding up his finger. “That wouldn’t be too intelligent of me, would it? Isn’t that always the villains tragic mistake? And I’m sure you see me as the villain, Skye. The villain explains too much and wastes too much time, until his plans are thwarted, but then that only works when the hero has a chance.” “Watch out, Skye!” screamed Oliver. Jeremy pulled a .45 from behind his back, aimed, and fired before I could even think of moving. Searing pain hit my left shoulder and I went down. I grasped it with my right hand, blood staining my shirt. “Opps, I missed,” said Jeremy grinning. “I meant to kill you, Skye, but wait…there’s still plenty of time for that.” He laughed. I was on my knees in the snow, my head swimming with pain. “You really mean to kill me?” I croaked. “I mean to kill you both.” “Do you really think you can get away with it?” “Why not? I have…we have…before.” I looked at the others. I’d been so focused on Jeremy and Oliver I’d barely taken note of the other faces in the crowd. Clay was no where to be seen, but there was Glen, Alex, Ben, and… “Jarret,” I said. “I can’t believe you’re a part of this.”

Mark A. Roeder

319

Jarret smirked at me. He was standing to the right of those holding Oliver. His betrayal made me hate him the worst of all. “Who used who, Skye?” said Jarret and laughed. It was clear from the expression on Jeremy’s face he didn’t understand. I don’t think it mattered to him. He could see I’d been used and betrayed and he therefore approved. “You’ve murdered before?” I asked Jeremy. My vision was beginning to blur. “Do you really think everyone involved in the murders last spring is dead or in jail?” I swallowed and fear froze my heart. The pain in my shoulder was a torment. “But Ken…he said Clay…” “That wasn’t Ken!” said Oliver quickly, before anyone could stop him. One of those holding him smacked him hard in the mouth. I rose to my feet. Jeremy trained the gun on me. I did not move forward. Jeremy grinned again. “You have no idea much it helps to have supernatural aid.” Shit. The situation was getting worse and worse. I looked around at the trees. “Oh, don’t worry. He’s not here—not yet. I’m afraid bringing Oliver to us weakened him, but he’ll be back. You see, that’s the real reason I’m taking time to fill you in. I have the time to spare, so why not be gracious?” “Let him go,” I said, nodding toward Oliver. “Let him go and I’ll do anything you want.” “Oh how noble, Skye! You’ll do anything I want? How generous of you to offer what I already have! I have news for you, fag, I can do anything I want to you without your cooperation. I’m the one with the gun and four friends. Face it, Skye, you’re outmatched this time.” I said nothing. He was right and I hated it, not so much because of what he could and would do to me, although that was not a pleasant thought, but I hated to see him win. I hated to see evil triumph. Where are you, Taylor, I thought. I need help! I can’t handle it alone this time! He didn’t come. In my heart I knew he wouldn’t. Everything happens for a reason. What was the reason behind this? What purpose would Oliver’s death and mine serve? I closed my eyes for a moment, and then opened them and nodded. I would just have faith that whatever happened was meant to happen. I stood there not knowing what to do. Jeremy held the gun on me, just waiting for me to try something. He was just waiting for an excuse to kill me, not that he needed one. I might be strong, but I couldn’t stop a bullet. I wished I really was a super hero. Batman could’ve handed it. Superman could’ve just grabbed

Mark A. Roeder

320

the bullet out of the air. Now if I was like that, there would be so much I could do! But I was only me. It didn’t seem fair that it end this way. I had so much I wanted to do. I wanted to be there for those who needed me. I guess anyone would’ve thought something like that if they were staring at the barrel of a .45, but I really was thinking of all those I couldn’t help if I was gone. My shoulder ached. I felt weaker. Even my strength was beginning to drain away. I don’t know how long we stood there. It was only minutes I’m sure, but it felt like eternity. At last, a boy stepped out of the air, but it was not Taylor. I had no idea who it was. I’d never seen him before. He grinned evilly at me. There was no doubt he must’ve been the creature who posed as Ken. He was young and blond, with short hair. He would’ve been handsome but for his narrowed eyes and evil grin. I searched in my mind, but did not recognize him. I couldn’t even be sure that this was his true appearance. It seemed he could change his looks at will. “It’s time,” he said, looking at me, but speaking to Jeremy. “Finish it.” Jeremy turned on his heel, took aim at Oliver, and fired. At the same moment, Jarret launched himself at Oliver and the pair holding him, taking them all to the ground. I was shocked, but not so astounded I didn’t have the sense to hurl myself at Jeremy. The gun went flying and my fist met his face. There was a great scream on the wind and the creature in the form of a blond boy disappeared, but I feared he was not really gone. I didn’t stop to think. It was time to act. I cried out in pain when I slugged Jeremy with my left arm. Best not try that again, I thought to myself. I used only my right from that moment on. Jeremy escaped my grasp and tackled me, sending me to the ground, Ben jumped on me as well. It was two against one and me with only one useable arm. The odds weren’t good, but better than before. Jarret was slugging it out with Glen and Alex, aided by Oliver. From what little I could witness, Oliver was a tough fighter. I never thought he had it in him, but then again, he knew he was fighting for this life. I pitied him. He should never have been put in such a situation. Jarret took out Glen. I managed to see him land the punch. I had no idea Jarret could hit with that much strength. He nailed Glen in the jaw, his head snapped back, and he went down. I wasn’t sure if he was just out cold, or dead. I wasn’t doing so well. I’d come to think of myself as nearly invincible, but Jeremy and Ben were kicking my ass. Ben was especially vicious. I guess that was the drawback to striking terror into him. Now that he had the upper hand, he was exacting his revenge. I feared what he would do to me if he got the chance,

Mark A. Roeder

321

but I didn’t let it show. Ben nailed me in the nads and I went down again. I was beginning to wish for death just so the pain would go away. I prayed for Taylor to come. He was our only hope. Oliver kicked, clawed, and punched at Alex, but Alex outmatched him by far. I saw Oliver take a punch to the stomach and go down. Jarret launched himself at Alex, but was shoved back by an unseen force. Our otherworldly friend was back again. Jarret didn’t let that stop him. He went right back after Alex and nailed him in the lats. Alex cried out in pain. There was another scream upon the air, coming from unseen lips. I had no time to watch. I merely caught bits and pieces of the action such a short distance away. I was far too involved with fighting for my own life, which looked as if it might soon end. I rolled toward the .45 where it lay abandoned in the snow. If I could reach it we would still have a chance. Ben stomped on my forearm, however, even as I reached out to grab it and I cried out in pain. I grabbed his leg and pulled him down, landing two punches to his face before Jeremy tackled me from behind. For the next several seconds they both beat the crap out of me. I realized then I had not known pain before. My shoulder was agony itself. I fought my way free, almost blinded by the pain. I was limping and weakened. I knew I couldn’t keep it up. I felt dizzy. I swung for Jeremy and missed. He laughed at me. I took a swing at Ben’s face and connected. He went down. I dropped on him and slugged him twice in the face. I knocked him out. I surged to my feet. My eyes met Jeremy’s for a split second. In that same moment, I saw the gun once more in his hand. He’d retrieved it while I fought Ben. There was a loud crack and time seemed to move in slow motion. Oliver screamed, “Nooooo!” Jarret launched himself toward me and shoved me out of the way. He cried out in pain. I jerked my head up as Oliver took Jeremy from behind. I launched myself at Jeremy and together we beat him into unconsciousness. I fell to my knees beside Jarret. I felt as if I might slip into oblivion. Jarret was kneeling on the ground, holding his shoulder. He looked at me and grinned, despite the pain. At last Taylor appeared. “You’re late,” I said. “Oh no, I’m perfectly on time.” Oliver was crying. Taylor turned to him. “Don’t worry, Oliver. He’s not going to die, neither of them are.”

Mark A. Roeder

322

Taylor passed his hand over my shoulder and the pain disappeared. Oliver gasped and gingerly reached out to touch where the wound had been. I looked down and could see no evidence of my wound. Even my shirt was no longer bloodied. Taylor turned his attention to Jarret and soon his wound was gone as if it had never been. I’d never seen anyone look so astounded before. If Jarret hadn’t already been kneeling, he would’ve slumped to the ground. Taylor merely smiled at him, offering no explanation. In moments his eyes were locked upon mine. “You have a great deal to offer the world, Skye, but don’t try to do it all alone. You must learn to depend upon others as well as yourself, or you will fail.” I nodded. I knew he spoke the truth. If I’d had to go it all alone on this day, both Oliver and myself would’ve been dead. Thank God Jarret was there. ✶

✶

✶

✶

I looked around the huge dining room table; Oliver, Sean, Nick, and Marshall were all sitting near. It was Taylor and Mark who held my attention, however. I had not set eyes on Mark before, but when Taylor introduced him I had no doubt I was in the presence of yet another angel. But wait, I had seen him…when Taylor took me back in time, or showed me the past or whatever. I had seen Mark. He’d been the boy running by Taylor’s side. After all that’d happened, after all I’d seen, I still found it difficult to adjust to the existence of such beings as angels. I’d always heard of angels and knew many believed in them, but I’d never thought for a moment they were real, not until Taylor entered my life. I gazed upon the pair, never wanting to look away. They were so beautiful it almost hurt to look at them. “It is time to reveal things that could not be revealed before,” said Mark, “but other things must remain unknown until their own time comes.” Oh great, I thought, he sounds just like Taylor. That thought gave me pause, although not so much as the look I saw pass between Taylor and Mark. Taylor had said he was taken. No wonder I couldn’t get him interested in me. How was I supposed to compete with an angel? Sure, he didn’t have my build, but…well; I had sense enough to know when I was outmatched. Mark looked at me as if he could read my thoughts. I realized he quite likely could. I looked down at my hands resting upon the polished wood of the table, feeling my face turn red. “What you are told here must remain in this room. It is not to be shared with others,” said Mark.

Mark A. Roeder

323

Everyone nodded. “It is time for answers,” said Mark, looking at Oliver who uncomfortably fidgeted in his chair. Their eyes met and Oliver hesitantly spoke. “I’ve been wondering,” said Oliver, “that is…I don’t understand what happened, or why it happened. That ghost or spirit or whatever…it was trying so hard to keep me away from Clay, but I don’t know why, and then when it was unmasked, it tried to kill me, or was I just bait to get at Skye? And who or what was that thing anyway?” “Devon,” said Sean quietly and with great fear, “but the exorcism…we forced him away.” “For a time only,” said Mark. “It is not so easy to get rid of one such as he.” Sean sighed. “I thought that was all over.” “It has barely begun,” said Mark, “but once again he has failed—failed to keep Oliver and Clay apart and failed to destroy Skye.” “Excuse me,” said Oliver. “But what’s that about keeping Clay and me apart?” Mark turned his attention to Oliver once more. “Devon could sense the love you have for Clay, perhaps better than you could sense it yourself. It drew him. Love is a powerful emotion, Oliver, and this spirit both craves and despises it. His passions are ruled by jealousy and hate and so he worked his mischief to prevent the love he sensed forming between you and Clay.” “All that was just to keep us apart?” “Love is a powerful thing, Oliver, and can work miracles. Yes, nearly all Devon did was to keep you apart. He fears the love Clay and you will have together and he fears what it will allow you to do, it’s as simple as that.” Oliver grinned. He looked like he’d won the lottery. “Us? Together?” Mark nodded. “He tried to kill me in the end. Why didn’t he just kill me in the beginning and be done with it? Surely, that would’ve been easier.” “You have witnessed some of Devon’s limitations. He is a spirit with the ability to make himself solid for brief spaces of time. He has not the ability to kill without aid. His weapons are trickery and manipulation. He sought to lead you away from Clay and when that failed, he led you to those who would kill you for him.” “But, why couldn’t he just kill me? Couldn’t he have grabbed a knife or something and plunged it into my heart? It would’ve only taken a moment.” “He could have stabbed you, that is true, but to do so he would’ve had to remain solid in this plane long enough to bring the knife to you and that he can-

Mark A. Roeder

324

not do. It is a simple matter for you to carry objects, but not so for him. It is the weakness of spirits. Manipulating the physical world is extremely difficult for them.” “But I’ve seen him remain solid an hour and more at a time!” said Oliver. “No, you only think you have. That’s part of his trickery. He is solid only when he touches you. At other times it is an illusion.” “Why didn’t Devon just possess someone and use them to kill Oliver, or Clay?” asked Sean. “I know he’s capable of possession.” Sean and Marshall exchanged a meaningful glance. “He likely would have resorted to that,” said Mark, “but as I said, Devon is drawn to love, even though he despises it. Oliver gave him love and it was a force he could not resist. Perhaps Devon himself did not realize it, but that love bound him. As long as it was there, he could not kill Oliver nor even Clay.” “You will fail. You will all fail.” Like everyone else in the room, I looked at Marshall as he spoke with a voice bizarre even for him. Marshall glared back at us. Somehow, I knew it wasn’t him. We’d just been speaking of possession, so it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. “Haven’t you learned any new tricks, Devon?” asked Taylor. “Must you keep coming back with the same tired deceptions?” If looks could kill, Taylor would’ve been dead, but then how does one kill an angel? “You interfere too much!” shouted Devon. “It is you who sought to interfere with the natural course of events,” said Taylor. “We were sent to undo your dirty work.” I swallowed. A sense of dread and malice flowed from Devon. I knew he would’ve struck us all dead if he could’ve. Perhaps it was only the power of the angels that protected us, but no, Mark had just said the spirits weapons were deception and illusion. Still, I had no doubt he was perilous. “You haven’t won yet,” snarled Devon. “Give up your anger, Devon,” said Mark. “What happened happened a long time ago and there’s no one left to blame. You hurt only yourself now.” “Oh how I despise you!” shouted Devon. “There was never a day I celebrated more than the day you died!” Taylor stared at Devon. “Enough! In the name of God, I command you to depart!” Devon wailed and left screaming from Marshall’s body. I felt I could breathe easier once he’d departed.

Mark A. Roeder

325

Marshall shuddered. “Is that the end of him then?” asked Oliver, his voice shaking. “No, Taylor has banished him for the time being, but it’s far from the end of him. He can’t be destroyed,” said Mark. “You mean he’s invulnerable?” I asked. “Only in the sense that all things are,” said Mark. “I don’t understand.” “Me either,” said Oliver. “You must understand that nothing can be unmade or destroyed. Anything that has ever existed, will always exist,” said Mark. “But…,” said Oliver, “people die, houses burn, things blow up or rot away.” “You’re speaking of change, not destruction,” said Mark. “Think of it this way—is it possible to unmake a drop of water?” “You can freeze it,” said Oliver. “Or you can heat it until it disappears.” “Those are changes again. The water is being altered, it’s taking another form. It’s not being unmade. If water is frozen, it becomes a solid, if it’s boiled, it becomes a gas, but these are only changes in form. Ice can melt to become a liquid once more. Steam can cool and condense into a liquid as well. It doesn’t matter how many times the form of the water is changed, it still exists.” “Heavy,” said Oliver. Mark grinned. “It’s much the same with living beings. All of us have a soul. That soul is not destroyed when we die. Our bodies return to the dust from which they came, taking part in the cycle of all things, and even they do not cease to exist, but merely take another form. Our souls, not being physical, simply go on. A soul cannot be destroyed. It cannot be unmade. We’ve forced this spirit away from this place, but we can never destroy him. Even if we could, to do so would be a terrible, unthinkable wrong.” “So he can just keep coming back and back, forever and ever?” I asked. The thought was truly disturbing. “Yes.” “Then how can we defeat him? How can we stop him if he cannot be destroyed?” “We can neither defeat nor destroy him in the way you mean,” said Mark. “What we can hope to do is change him. Devon, who is now in spirit form, is a tormented soul. He seeks vengeance for wrongs. He believes he is in the right. He is acting with that belief, as we all do. Our task is to make him see he is following the wrong path, that he must turn from it. He must release his hatred and his

Mark A. Roeder

326

pain. He must realize he is a part of the whole, not an outsider. There are no outsiders. We all belong, but there are those who do not understand that simple fact. Helping him come to this realization may be our very purpose, although we doubtless have other purposes as well.” “How do we bring him to this realization?” I asked. “It seems impossible.” “That path has not yet been revealed, but following it will require strength, determination, love, and understanding.” “Love and understanding?” asked Oliver. “For that thing? It’s evil!” “He’s not evil. He has lost his way—he’s confused, shunned, lonely, and in pain. We may consider his actions evil, but he is not so. He represents the task put upon all by God—to bring every last soul to a state of love, compassion, and understanding.” “That’s…just…completely…overwhelming,” I said. “It’s like…trying to comprehend infinity or eternity.” Mark smiled. “Do not worry. We are not alone. In fact, the “us” I speak of is not merely the small group gathered here, but all souls everywhere. This is a task that will not be completed in a day, a year, or a thousand years. It’s almost infinitely complicated, but in the end we will succeed. There will be many trials. There is much for all of us to learn, but that’s also why we are here. In the end we will prevail.” “So this isn’t the end, is it?” asked Oliver. “No, Oliver,” said Mark. “This isn’t the end. It’s only the beginning.”

Oliver

I took Clay’s hand as he sat beside me in the Paramount. A film flickered on the screen, but it might as well have been blank for all I cared. At last, I was with him and not just as a friend. We’d been out before, but this was our first “date.” I didn’t know where things would go from here, but as long as I could hold Clay’s hand, I knew I’d be happy. One thing was for sure—from now on I was going to follow my heart, because I knew it would never lead me wrong.

- 327 -

Epilogue by Skye

Jeremy, Glen, Alex, and Ben disappeared. I would’ve felt better if they were locked up somewhere, but everything happens for a reason, right? I just hope I’ve seen the last of them. Oliver has slimmed down a lot, although he says Clay told him he would love him no matter how he looked. Oliver is doing it for himself now, so I know he’ll succeed. I’ve never seen him so happy before. I hope everything works out for him. And as for me? I don’t have a boyfriend, but I do have Jarret. He was running with the wrong crowd for a while, but I believe in forgiveness—at least sometimes. How could I not forgive him after he took a bullet for me? Besides, he’s way too hot not to forgive. I know, I know—I should be looking for inner beauty and a real boyfriend, but I need to take things one step at a time. Give me a break okay? It takes a while to change and I’m a busy guy. I’ve got wrestling, school, work, and a ton of gay boys to stand up for, so forgive me if I don’t quite meet your standards. I’m trying, okay? Isn’t that all any of us can do?

The End

- 328 -

OTHER BOOKS BY MARK A. ROEDER LISTED IN SUGGESTED READING ORDER

Gay Youth Chronicles:

ANCIENT PREJUDICE BREAK TO NEW MUTINY Mark is a boy who wants what we all want: to love and be loved. His dreams are realized when he meets Taylor, the boy of his dreams. The boys struggle to keep their love hidden from a world that cannot understand, but ultimately, no secret is safe in a small Mid-western town. Ancient Prejudice is a story of love, friendship, understanding, and an age-old prejudice that still has the power to kill. It is a story for young and old, gay and straight. It reminds us all that everyone should be treated with dignity and respect and that there is nothing greater than the power of love.

THE SOCCER FIELD IS EMPTY The Soccer Field Is Empty is a revised and much expanded edition of Ancient Prejudice. It is more than 50% longer and views events from the point of view of Taylor, as well as Mark. There is so much new in the revised edition that it is being published as a separate novel. Soccer Field delves more deeply into the events of Mark and Taylor’s lives and reveals previously hidden aspects of Taylor’s personality.

- 329 -

Mark A. Roeder

330

Authors note: I suggest readers new to my books start with Soccer Field instead of Ancient Prejudice as it gives a more complete picture of the lives of Mark and Taylor. For those who wish to read the original version, Ancient Prejudice will remain available for at least the time being.

SOMEONE IS WATCHING It’s hard hiding a secret. It’s even harder keeping that secret when someone else knows. Someone Is Watching is the story of Ethan, a young high school wrestler who must come to terms with being gay. He struggles first with himself, then with an unknown classmate that hounds his every step. While struggling to discover the identity of his tormentor, Ethan must discover his own identity and learn to live his life as his true self. He must choose whether to give up what he wants the most, or face his greatest fear of all.

A BETTER PLACE High school football, a hospital of horrors, a long journey, and an unlikely love await Brendan and Casper as they search for a better place… Casper is the poorest boy in school. Brendan is the captain of the football team. Casper has nothing. Brendan has it all: looks, money, popularity, but he lacks the deepest desire of his heart. The boys come from different worlds, but have one thing in common that no one would guess. Casper goes through life as the “invisible boy”; invisible to the boys that pick on him in school, invisible to his abusive father, and invisible most of all to his older brother, who makes his life a living hell. He can’t believe his good luck when Brendan, the most popular boy in school, takes an interest in him and becomes his friend. That friendship soon travels in a direction that Casper would never have guessed.

Mark A. Roeder

331

A Better Place is the story of an unlikely pair, who struggle through friendship and betrayal, hardships and heartbreaks, to find the desire of their hearts, to find a better place.

SOMEONE IS KILLING THE GAY BOYS OF VERONA Someone is killing the gay boys of Verona, Indiana, and only one gay youth stands in the way. He finds himself pitted against powerful foes, but finds allies in places he did not expect. A brutal murder. Gay ghosts. A Haunted Victorian-Mansion. A cult of hate. A hundred year old ax murder. All this, and more, await sixteen-year-old Sean as he delves into the supernatural and races to discover the murderer before he strikes again. Someone is Killing the Gay Boys of Verona is a supernatural murder mystery that goes where no gay novel has set foot before. It is a tale of love, hate, friendship, and revenge.

KEEPER OF SECRETS Sixteen-year-old Avery is in trouble, yet again, but this time he’s in over his head. On the run, Avery is faced with hardships and fear. He must become what he’s always hated, just to survive. He discovers new reasons to hate, until fate brings him to Graymoor Mansion and he discovers a disturbing connection to the past. Through the eyes of a boy, murdered more than a century before, Avery discovers that all is not as he thought. Avery is soon forced to face the greatest challenge of all; looking into his own heart. Sean is head over heels in love with his new boyfriend, Nick. There is trouble in paradise, however. Could a boy so beautiful really love plain, ordinary Sean? Sean cannot believe it and desperately tries to transform himself into the ideal young hunk, only to learn that it’s what’s inside that matters.

Mark A. Roeder

332

Keeper of Secrets is the story of two boys, one a gay youth, the other an adolescent gay basher. Fate and the pages of a hundred year old journal bring them together and their lives are forever changed.

DO YOU KNOW THAT I LOVE YOU The lead singer of the most popular boy band in the world has a secret. A tabloid willing to tell all turns his world upside down. In Do You Know That I Love You, Ralph, a young gay teen living on a farm in Indiana, has an aching crush on a rock star and wants nothing more than to see his idol in concert. Meanwhile, Jordan, the rock star, is lonely and sometimes confused with his success, because all he wants is someone to love him and feels he will never find the love he craves. Do You Know is the story of two teenage boys, their lives, desires, loves, and a shared destiny that allows them both to find peace.

MASKED DESTINY Masked Destiny is the story of Skye, a high school athlete determined to be the Alpha male. Skye’s obsessed with his own body, his Abercrombie & Fitch wardrobe, and keeping those around him in their place. Try as he might, he’s not quite able to ignore the world around him, or the plight of gay boys that cross his path. Too frightened of what others might think, Skye fails to intervene when he could have saved a boy with a single word. The resulting tragedy, wise words for a mysterious blond boy, and a unique opportunity combine to push Skye toward his destiny. Oliver is young, a bit pudgy, and interested in little more than his books and possibly his first kiss. As he slowly gains courage, he seeks out the friendship of Clay, his dream boy, in hopes they will become more than friends. Oliver is sought out in turn by Ken, who warns him Clay is not at all what he seems, but Ken, too, has his secrets. Oliver must choose between them and discovers danger, a link to boys murdered in the recent past, and the answers to secrets he’d never dreamed.

Mark A. Roeder

333

THIS TIME AROUND What happens when a TV evangelist struggles to crush gay rights? Who better to halt his evil plans than the most famous rock star in the world? This Time Around follows Jordan and Ralph as they become involved in a struggle with Reverend Wellerson, a TV evangelist, over the fate of gay youth centers. Wellerson is willing to stop at nothing to crush gay rights and who better to halt his evil plans than the most famous rock star in the entire world? While battling Wellerson, Jordan seeks to come to terms with his own past and learn more about the father he never knew. The excitement builds when an assassin is hired and death becomes a real possibility for Jordan and those around him. Jordan is forced to face his own fears and doubts and the battle within becomes more dangerous than the battle without. Will Jordan be able to turn from the path of destruction, or is he doomed to follow in the footsteps of his father? This time around, things will be different.

THE SUMMER OF MY DISCONTENT The Summer of My Discontent is a tapestry of tales delving into life as a gay teen in a small Midwestern town. Dane is a sixteen-year-old runaway determined to start a new life of daring, love, and sex—no matter the cost to himself, or others. His actions bring him to the brink of disaster and only those he sought to prey upon can save him. Among Dane’s new found “friends” are a young male prostitute and the local grave robber who becomes his despised employer. The boys of A Better Place are back—Ethan, Nathan, Brendan, and Casper are once again dealing with trouble in Verona, Indiana. Drought and circumstance threaten their existence and they struggle together to save themselves from blackmail, financial collapse, and temptation. Brendan must cope with anonymity after being one of the most popular boys in school. Casper must face his own past—the loss of his father and the fate of his abusive brother, who is locked away in the very hospital of horrors from which

Mark A. Roeder

334

Brendan escaped. Letters from his brother force Casper to question his feelings— is Jason truly a monster or can he change? Dark, foreboding, and sexy—The Summer of My Discontent is the tale of gay teens seeking to find themselves, each other, and a better place.

PHANTOM WORLD Toby Riester is sixteen, gay, and searching for his first boyfriend. He discovers many potential candidates—Orlando, a cute sixteen year old boy of Latin ancestry who works with Toby at the Phantom World amusement park—C.T., a blond, seventeen year old who is obviously gay—and Spike, a well-built sixteen year old from the internet. Each boy has his own seductive qualities and each is more than his seems. One of them, however, is far more dangerous than Toby ever guessed. Orlando finds himself a girlfriend at Phantom World, but that’s only the beginning of his story. When he meets his girlfriend’s twin brother, Kerry, his world is turned upside down. Mackenzie Riester is the athletic younger brother of Toby. He has little respect for his queer big brother and joins with his new found friend, Billy, in playing an elaborate practical joke on Toby that becomes more perilous than he ever dreamed. Phantom World is the story of three very different boys—their triumphs, heartaches, and their search for love and acceptance.

Mark A. Roeder

335

Other Books

THE VAMPIRES HEART Ever wonder what it would be like to be fifteen-years-old forever? Ever wonder how it would feel to find out your best friend is not what he seems? Graham Granger is intrigued by the new boy in school. Graham’s heart aches for a friend, and maybe a boyfriend, but is Josiah the answer to his dreams? Why is Bry Hartnett, the school hunk, taking an interest in Graham as well? When strange happenings begin to occur at Griswold Jr./Sr. High, Graham’s once boring life becomes more exciting than he can handle. Mystery, intrigue, and danger await Graham as he sets out on an adventure he never dreamed possible.