by Gene Gant
“Mac, I’m not naming any names. And I didn’t actually go all the way, but I got real close.”
He sat up the way a dog does when you wave a piece of bacon in the air. “How close?”
“Too close. As in committing-a-sin close.”
“Sin?” He smiled. He leaned toward me. “Come on, man. Pretend we’re Catholic. Confess, my son.”
“Go to hell,” I shot back, rolling a tired grin at him. The next moment, my mood sank again. “You think God really punishes us for our sins?”
“You mean, like, by sending us to hell?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t believe in hell.”
“You don’t?”
“I see God as this being who’s all love. I just don’t believe that a being like that would make a place to torment puny beings like us forever and ever. I don’t believe he would even let a place like that exist.”
“But there has to be a hell. The Bible says there is.”
“Hey, you asked me what I believe. It’s okay by me if you believe something else.”
At times, my head seems to get so heavy with stuff I just want to lay it down somewhere. I closed my eyes and sighed. “You ever think about that guy, Dylan Cussler?”
Mac was quiet for so long that I opened my eyes and turned to him, wondering if something was wrong. He was staring at the ground, a troubled expression on his face. Finally, he looked at me and said, “I try not to, but yeah, I think about him sometimes. It was one thing to go in and trash his house, but we hurt him.”
“Actually, I hurt him.”
“Doesn’t matter. I was there. I was in on it.” He looked away again, his eyes full of regret. “I don’t like homosexuals. Something about boy-on-boy action just bothers me. It makes my stomach turn. But since that stuff with Gina Marie happened, I started thinking about some things. Even with Gina Marie showing me all that girl-on-girl play and trying to get me to fool around with Lester, I wouldn’t want to see anybody beat her down for any reason. I feel the same way about that Dylan guy. He didn’t deserve what we did to him.”
“Yeah. I think you’re right.”
“I still can’t figure out how we got away with that, especially since you showed the guy your stupid face.” Mac slid off the hood of my dad’s car, grabbed me by the back of my neck, and gave me another of his playful shakes. “Anyway, stop thinking so much, man. It’s not good for you. You’ll just hurt yourself.”
Setting me free, he announced that he was hungry and disappeared into his house for a snack. I ignored his advice, going over our conversation in my head. Maybe he was right. Maybe I should stop trying to work through my guilt and just quit doing the things that made me feel that way. I loved my parents, and I didn’t want to be a disappointment to them. Maybe I should stop questioning everything and just be what they needed me to be.
BY FOUR THIRTY, I was done. Both cars were gleaming in the slanted red-orange rays of the setting sun. I had rinsed out the sponges and put them away with the bucket, and the old towels I’d used for drying were piled in the laundry room basket. Now I was draining the water hose. My one-man car wash had been in operation since ten o’clock that morning, and I was worn out. Remind me to never, ever piss off my mom again.
The motion of a car pulling up to a stop at the curb behind me barely caught my attention. It was probably one of the neighbors who lived across the street. My body was cold and tired, and the only thing on my mind was getting a hot bath, a hot meal, and turning in early. There were footsteps behind me, but I ignored those too, focused on winding up the hose so I could put it away. By the time I realized there was something weird about the footsteps—the sound of them was getting louder instead of receding—the person was right behind me.
I turned around.
“Hey, Jericho,” said Mr. Hutchison.
HUTCH and I stood side by side in the door to the dining room. We peered into the living room where Mom and Dad stood facing off with Mr. Hutchison. Mr. Hutchison was a big man, but not in an obese sort of way. According to Hutch, Mr. Hutchison worked in construction for almost fifteen years. He still built things for people—furniture, tool sheds, doghouses—in his spare time. His body was broad with muscles that just seemed to keep thickening from hard work.
“Have a seat, Mr. Hutchison,” Mom said, waving her hand at the sofa. “Let me take your coat.”
“No thanks, Mrs. Jiles,” Mr. Hutchison replied, unzipping his jacket but keeping it on. “I’m not gonna take up too much of your time. I just came to pick up Barry.”
Hutch shifted next to me, his body stiffening. I could almost feel the angry resistance that swept through him. Or maybe I was just projecting what I was feeling onto him.
In a very calm, clear voice, Dad replied to Mr. Hutchison with, “Why?”
Mr. Hutchison seemed taken aback. He blinked at Dad a few times. “I’m taking him home.”
“Why?” Dad repeated.
Now Mr. Hutchison just looked confused, and he didn’t answer.
“Mr. Hutchison, what my husband wants to understand,” said Mom, “is the reason you want to take Barry home. After hearing how you threw Barry into the street, I’m more than a little curious about that myself.”
The sides of Mr. Hutchison’s thick, round face went bright red. “That was just a misunderstanding. Things got a little out of control. I’m sorry the whole thing happened.”
“I see.” Mom turned to Hutch. “Barry, your father’s sorry about the whole thing. Is that enough for you to go home with him?”
Hutch didn’t hesitate. “No, Mrs. Jiles.”
The red in Mr. Hutchison’s face darkened, and anger tightened his eyes. He owned a hardware store, the only one in the immediate area of Benton and Webster’s Glen. That gave him a steady base of customers. But Walmart was building one of its megastores in Benton, and Mr. Hutchison had been fuming for months, knowing he couldn’t compete with the prices a giant like that would offer. I remembered how furious Mr. Hutchison’s face would get every time he’d come home complaining to his wife about Walmart, as if he was going to head right over to the construction site in Benton and take that sprawling building apart piece by piece. That was the way he was looking at Mom now.
“This is not up to Barry,” Mr. Hutchison said. “He’s my kid, and I say he’s coming home with me.”
Dad stepped in front of Mom, his arms folded across his chest. “Well, I understood Barry to say that he has no intention of going with you. So he’ll be staying here for now.”
Mr. Hutchison looked directly at Hutch, his face softening in a way that, to me, was as fake as the money in a Monopoly game. “Hey, I talked with your mom. She’s okay with you coming back. You just have to follow that rule we gave you. You do that and you won’t have any more problems with us.”
“What a crock of shit!” I snapped before Hutch could say anything. Mom, Dad, and Mr. Hutchison all turned as one and gave me the same indignant glare, but I didn’t back down. “You think Hutch is gonna stop being gay just because you tell him to?” I said to Mr. Hutchison. “He’s not going anywhere with you.”
Dad turned back to Hutch’s father. “I apologize for my son. He knows he’s not supposed to talk to adults that way, and I’ll be reminding him of that later. But he is right about one thing. Barry is not leaving with you today if he doesn’t want to go.”
“You can’t keep my kid from me,” Mr. Hutchison replied heatedly. “Barry’s my son. I want him home.”
“Yeah, as long as he leaves the gay part of him somewhere else,” I said. “If he brings that home, you’ll just kick his ass again, right?”
Mom spun toward me. “Jericho! That’s enough out of you!”
Mr. Hutchison started toward the dining room, motioning with his hand for Hutch. Hutch backed away. “Come on, Barry,” his father said. “We’re getting out of here.”
Dad blocked the man. “Mr. Hutchison, I want you out of my house now.”
“Barry,” Mr. Hutchison sa
id, almost in a pleading kind of way. “Your mom and I are leaving town. We’re moving. I don’t want to leave you. You have to come with me.”
Hutch shook his head. “No….”
Dad said to the man, “It’s time for you to get out.”
“If my son doesn’t leave here with me,” Mr. Hutchison growled, “I’m calling the sheriff.”
Mom crossed the living room, grabbed the cordless phone from the table, and held it out to Mr. Hutchison. “Here. Be my guest. We’d love to tell the sheriff how you threw a child into the street. After you hit him in the head so hard you gave him a concussion. We’d love to hear what the sheriff has to say about that.”
Mr. Hutchison stood there for maybe another thirty seconds, looking from Mom to Dad to me and, finally, to Hutch. You could see the anger building in him, and for a while, I thought the top of his head was going to blow open. I understood more than ever why Hutch was so afraid of him. Mr. Hutchison turned suddenly and shoved his way out the front door.
Hutch shuddered out a sigh, his body sagging in relief. I put my arm around his shoulders. He was shaking. “Are you okay, man?”
“I gotta lie down,” Hutch muttered. He tore away from me and rushed up the stairs.
“Poor child,” Mom said as she went to close the front door. “I’ll go up and check on him later.”
Dad seemed upset. “Jericho, you go on to your room too. Your mom and I need to talk.”
I wanted to go up to Hutch. I was worried about him. But I’d been pushing my parents’ buttons pretty hard since yesterday, and after the confrontation with Mr. Hutchison, I knew it wouldn’t take much more for them to snap.
I went to my room and lay across the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Chapter 22
“YOU awake?”
“Uh huh.” It was just after midnight. I’d been doing a lot of tossing and turning.
Hutch walked into my room, wearing a T-shirt and pajama bottoms. I was stripped down to just my boxers. I had left my door open, hoping he would come down for a visit. He shut the door. “I couldn’t sleep either,” he said.
He came to the bed. I slid over. He pulled back the covers and lay down, his back to me.
I gasped. “God. Your feet are cold.”
“Sorry.”
We didn’t say anything for a while. The house was dark, quiet, and warm.
“Why are you still up?” Hutch asked.
“I was worried about you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You didn’t come down for dinner. I would’ve come up, but Mom told me to give you your space.”
“I like your mom. She came up and brought me something to eat and told me everything is going to be okay.”
“So… are you okay? After that thing this evening with your dad?”
Hutch sighed. “He’s been following me. That’s how he knew I was here. I thought I saw his car when we left school the other day. And then this afternoon, when I was out in the driveway with you, I saw his car again.”
“But that’s what I don’t get, man. Your folks said they didn’t want to have anything else to do with you and they kicked you out. So why is your dad trying to bring you home now?”
“It’s the same thing he did before. When Holy Madonna expelled me, he kicked me out of the house then too. I slept at the train station for three nights before he found me and told me I could come back home as long as I stopped the ‘sick stuff’. I went back, and my parents tried to act normal with me, but they never looked at me the same after that. My mom would make my favorite dinner or let me borrow her car because Dad told her that’s what parents are supposed to do. But even when she did things like that, she’d look at me as if I disgusted her. Dad hates gays too, but not the way my mom does.”
“What do you mean?”
“If it were just my dad, I think he would probably get used to the idea that I’m gay. But my mom can’t deal with it at all. She’ll never accept it. She doesn’t want it around her, especially not in her kid. She’d rather I was dead than gay. My dad sort of loves me, I guess. He just loves my mom a whole lot more. He’s always given her everything she wants, and if she doesn’t want me around, well that’s just too bad for me. He gets mad at me for being something that Mom can’t stand. Dad probably promised her that he’ll stop me from doing anything gay so she’ll let me come back. But I can’t go back. I can’t live like that anymore, Jerry. I can’t live with her hating me every time she looks at me, and with Dad hating me for making her crazy. I can’t live as if I’m not me.”
His body trembled suddenly. I put my arm around him. Without even thinking about it, I pulled aside the collar of his T-shirt and kissed the back of his neck. “You know what, Hutch? You’re probably the bravest dude I know.”
“Yeah? Then why am I so scared?”
I closed my eyes and hugged him tighter. “Come on, man. You don’t have to be afraid. You’re safe. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”
Although I meant every word, I expected Hutch to come back with some kind of a joke in response. He was just as strong as I was, if not stronger, and I knew from bitter experience that he could fistfight as well as I could. The fact was that neither of us stood a chance against his father. If Mr. Hutchison had come after Hutch when I was the only one around to help fend the man off, Hutch and I both would have gotten our asses kicked. Hutch knew that just as well as I did. But he didn’t make any jokes. He didn’t say anything at all.
And then I understood why he was afraid. “You think your dad’s not giving up, don’t you? You think he’s gonna come after you again.”
Hutch nodded. Neither of us seemed to have anything to say after that.
THE night drifted on. I tried not to think about how Hutch’s body felt against mine. I tried not to want anything more than to just be there for him, to give him whatever sense of security I could through my presence. Let’s just say that my efforts didn’t work. Desire hit me seemingly from out of nowhere, and suddenly my hands went to places where I had promised myself they would never go again. Hutch moaned, and then he rolled over to face me, and we were kissing as if our lives depended on it.
He stripped off my boxers. I got him out of his T-shirt and pajama bottoms. We wrestled there on the bed. It went on and on, and this time I didn’t stop myself. I couldn’t have stopped myself even if I’d wanted. I’m not a kiss and tell kind of guy. But I will say that Hutch and I lost our virginity that night.
It was the most beautiful experience of my life. And afterward, when I lay there with Hutch falling asleep in my arms, I didn’t regret it one bit.
A LITTLE after four that morning, I woke up. I looked at Hutch, lying asleep with his forehead pressed against my shoulder, his mouth open, the corner of my pillow lightly touching his face and making his nose twitch.
How do you know you’re falling in love? It’s when you look at someone, and you think, I can never let you go.
A FEW minutes later, I gently shook Hutch awake. “You’d better get back upstairs,” I whispered in his ear. “We don’t want my mom or dad to find us in here like this.”
He nuzzled his face against my neck, wrapping his arm and leg around me in a bear hug. After letting go, he got up and pulled on his T-shirt and pajama bottoms. He gave me a look that told me in no uncertain terms that he didn’t want to go, and I almost reached out and pulled him back into bed. Then he gave me a quick kiss and quietly slipped out of my room.
MOM fussed over us at breakfast. “What would you boys like?”
“Waffles?” Hutch suggested, looking at me.
“That sounds good,” I replied.
“Waffles it is.” Mom took out a mixing bowl and the flour.
Dad didn’t say a word. He didn’t look at either of us. He just sat at the table, hidden behind the Sunday paper.
THE four of us went off to church. Afterward, Hutch helped Mom make dinner. I sat on the floor of my room, reading a book since I wasn’t allowed to watch te
levision when I was grounded. I was missing a hell of a matchup between the Cowboys and the Giants. Damn it.
Dad came into my room, his face stern. He sat on my bed, and before I could even put my book aside, he said bluntly, “I saw Barry come out of your room this morning.”
I didn’t know what to say. I knew my parents didn’t want me to have sex at my age, and certainly not with another boy. It violated every one of their religious and moral principles. I had disrespected them by doing what I did with Hutch in their house. I could have mumbled something about Hutch and I having a bout of insomnia and hanging out, talking until we felt sleepy again, but I wasn’t going to disrespect Dad further by lying to him. Besides, Dad knew what we had done. I could see it in his eyes.
“Son….” The rigidity in Dad’s face gave way suddenly to grief. There were no tears, but it looked as if they would appear at any second. “What the two of you did is a sin. Don’t you realize that? You both put your souls at risk.”
I didn’t say anything. I wanted to apologize for my disrespect, but I couldn’t think of a way to say it without sounding as if I was ashamed of myself. And that was important to me, because I wasn’t ashamed. It was embarrassing that Dad knew I’d had sex, but I wasn’t ashamed of the act itself. It connected me to Hutch in a way that was special and precious.
“I haven’t said anything to your mother about this,” Dad continued, his head down, fighting back tears. “It would break her heart if she knew. I was a fool not to keep a closer eye on you and your friend. I was a fool to have that boy in this house after I saw how he… lusted after you. But I didn’t want to believe that you were capable of giving in to him. I was such a fool.”
I pushed myself up and sat on the bed next to him. “Dad, don’t blame yourself. And don’t blame Hutch. What happened was my fault.”
He looked at me sharply, horrified.
“Hutch was freaked out over what happened with his dad yesterday, and he couldn’t sleep,” I pressed on before I lost my nerve. I wanted him to understand what was happening to me. I wanted him to understand that I wasn’t just rebelling, or doing something crazy for the thrill of it. “He came down to my room just to talk. I was the one who started things with him.”
