Clay

A Moment in Time

The bus rolls to a stop and Clay stands, slinging his backpack over his right shoulder. Moving down the narrow aisle he feels the spit ball hit the back of his neck. He flinches but dares not turn, instead continues down the aisle.

“Tell your parents I said hello” says Mr. Pickens as he pulls the door open.

“I will” Clay responded, moving down the steep steps and out into the heat of the late afternoon. Across the broken pavement, with its dried out dusty depressions, Clay felt the sweat already trickling down his face as he made his way to the entry of the small store.  He saw the familiar red Chevy pickup on the east side of the building, finally out of the sun after sitting in it all morning. At the second gas pump sits Mrs. Simmons’ old Buick, smoke pouring from the tailpipe as it idles while she fills the tank.

“Mrs. Simmons, you’re supposed to shutoff the engine off when getting gas” Clay says in an exasperated voice as he cuts around her car.

“Well, if I didn’t have to pump my own gas and got some service like we use to have…”

He ignored her as she went off on her usual rant, no longer wondering how pumping her own gas had anything to do with shutting off the car. The door squeaked  and the bell mounted at the head rings out as he comes into the dark interior. The wood paneling and ceiling dark with age and the floor so stained and mottled that Clay never remembered it being the normal gray of concrete. He tossed his backpack behind the counter and picked up the broom propped in the corner of the counter.

“Clay, son, you can do that later. I need you to restock the candy and soda” says Virginia Etheridge, his mother.

He leans the broom back against the counter and moves back around the counter heading to the small stockroom in back. Everyday after school he comes in and works for three or four hours, sweeping, stocking and pumping gas while his mother works the register and his father works out back changing oil or doing small repair jobs under the lean to on the back of the store. Coming to the store after school is his life. He doesn’t play any sports, or be part of some school group, or hang out with his friends. His parents need him at the store. He wishes he could hang out with his friends more often. As to sports, he knows he is too skinny, to  underweight to be any good at football in the fall or baseball during the spring.

In the stockroom he pulls out the red wagon, a toy from his youth, the paint faded, and the bed rusted, and loads it with cases of soda and boxes of candy. Pulling it into the store he hears the bell ring and looks up to see two classmates come in. Dean, followed by Landon, then Landon’s father, Mr. Bishop. Clay feels a knot form in his stomach at the sight of Dean walking toward the candy aisle. He watches the stocky boy, reliving the latest torments enlisted against him. Dean is a bully. The worst kind, for everyone knows he is taking out on others the hurt he receives at home by his father. But for Clay, it doesn’t matter, for being the main target of Dean’s bullying doesn’t allow him to develop much sympathy for him.

Landon comes up behind Dean and it makes Clay feel safer. Whenever he is around, Dean isn’t as mean, less prone to act out. Many a time, Landon has reached out in a friendly manner toward him. But with Dean around, Clay never could accept the gesture. So, he kept close to his few close friends. The outcasts of the school. Those from the wrong community, or the girl who isn’t pretty enough, or like him, the boys who weren't masculine enough. Clay didn’t understand it, this hierarchy created among his classmates, the one that pushed him to the bottom. One of the boys who wasn’t athletic, outgoing, chasing the girls trying to hook up with them.

Pulling the wagon down the aisle, it squeaked causing Dean and Landon to look his way.

“Well, still playing with toys, I see” Dean mocks.

“Don’t” Landon cuts in, then looks at Clay, “Hey, Clay, how’s it going?”

“Okay” Clay responds, diverting his eyes to the racks that need restocking. He doesn’t look over when he hears Dean and Landon begin to talk among themselves, debating what to buy. He doesn’t look as he hears them open the cooler doors for a drink. But when they go to checkout, he looks over the shelving at Landon.

Tall, lean, with reddish brown hair and skin that is fair with cheeks that always look rose tinted. Clay knows he has dark brown eyes and is at least two inches taller than his own five eleven. They were in P.E. classes together last year. He had watched the boys showering and changing clothes. He tried not to stare, afraid to be caught looking. It was bad enough with Dean’s bullying. He dared not let them know how badly he was attracted to some of them. Landon had been in the class and he remembered the lean body and how it seemed so masculine at the time. The hairy armpits and the trail down his stomach to the pubic hair over his cock. He just looked older. Clay considered his own image, even now, a body that looked more like fourteen than eighteen.

Bending back to his task, ripping off the lids and sliding the display boxes of candy bars on the racks, he considered his place within the community. The Etheridge’s boy. The boy Dean and some of the other boys called ugly names. He didn’t understand it when he considered how he worked harder than most. The farm boys, like Landon, worked on their family farms, and sometimes very long hours. But that was limited to planting or harvest, not week after week, year-round. He had been helping in the store since he was ten, stocking shelves, dusting shelves and sweeping the floor. He knew his parents scrapped by, the store not making enough money with its main sells being drinks, snacks, cigarettes and some gas. How often he had listened to his father talk about the better days, back when his grandparents ran the store before selling it to his father. Back when they still ran a small butcher shop in back and sold some locally grown produce and some in the community would come in for can goods, sugar, flour and other staples.

The candy he had brought out was put on display and he pulled the wagon over to the reach-in coolers and loaded up the shelves with cans and bottles of soda, water, and fruit drinks. Empty cartons collapsed into a stack in the wagon he headed back to the stockroom.

“Clay, can you dust these shelves up here; they look bad” Virginia called out from the front as he approached the stockroom.

“Yes, mam.”

Boxes stacked in the back and wagon pulled into its place, he goes to the check-out where the duster is stored under the counter. As he approaches his mother pulls the feather duster out and lays it on the counter. She is on the phone with one of her friends, so Clay gets the nonverbal direction of her pointing toward the shelves along the wall. He starts at the top and works his way down. He has two shelving units wiped down and is on the third when the door squeaks open ringing the bell. Glancing toward it, he sees Jack, Eli and Ricky come in, their banter back and forth is louder than necessary with them punching each other on upper arms. More of his classmates. He watches them cut across the front toward the drink coolers. Jack looks his way then diverts his eyes back to Eli and Ricky. Clay knows the routine. He’s not a part of their clique and never will be. Turning back to the shelf, he resumes wiping down the front of each one. He hears them come up behind him to pay for their drinks.

“Is that it?” Virginia asks.

“Yep” Ricky replies.

“Five sixty-five.”

“Here’s two bucks for mine” said Eli.

“All I got is a…dollar thirty…six” said Jack.

“Give me your money” Ricky says, then toward Virginia, “here’s six bucks.”

Clay hears the register open and money counting out change. He steps over to the next shelf without looking back, reaching up to the top shelf. The register closes.

“Let’s go” said Jack.

Clay can’t resist any longer and he looks around and sees Eli and Ricky looking his way.

“I think you missed a spot” Ricky jokes pointing to one of the shelves, making Eli laugh.

“Come on guys, I’ve got to get home” Jack calls from the front, the door squeaking open and the bell ringing once again.

Although the three of them didn’t mess with him, there was something about being around any of the boys in his class that made him realize he held his breath when around them. He exhaled slowly, finally relaxing, running the duster across another shelf. Maybe he was afraid they would turn on him, start to bully him like Dean. Or maybe he was afraid they would see it in his face, this attraction he had toward them. Ricky with his straw blonde hair and blue eyes and a body that filled out his jeans and t-shirts that didn’t seem fair. Or Eli, another farm boy with a body that showed the results of his labors. He had jet black hair, dark skin and green eyes. A mole was just below the left one, a small thing that should have been insignificant. But it was for some reason. Even the girls commented on it. And finally, Jack, shorter than the others, wiry, lean, and fast. He seemed always to be moving. His friends called him Flash for he never stood still. He pictured all three of them and found himself considering each one for different reasons. He moved along the shelves while he imagined having one or the other in some place different, away from this small community with its gossip and everyone knowing everyone else. The good and the bad. Instead he imagined them in some city, or at the beach, or in the mountains hiking some trial. Places he could imagine getting them alone.

The Admirer

I see you all the time. At school where you sit in the second row in Mrs. English’s class, or in the third row by the windows in Mr. Wilson’s and in fifth period, our last together, I see you slip in the second seat by the wall, head down, never engaging anyone in this class. I know your friends are in other classes and you keep to yourself. I wonder what it must be like. How do you do it? Put up with Dean’s shit and keep on coming to school You must be counting the days to graduation. What is it now? Thirty-five days…no thirty-six days till we’re done. I can feel the excitement build, see others get more anxious for that day to arrive. But then I look at you, Clay Etheridge, and you act as if graduation is a death sentence. An ending of some sort. What gives? Do you not have plans? I know you’re poor, your family’s store not doing well, but there are student loans and grants for college. I’ve seen your grades and they are a damn sight better than mine, although mine are good.

I don’t understand why I watch you. Well…that’s a lie. I know why I watch you. Why I know your mannerism, the way you constantly push your blonde hair out of your eyes with your left hand. How your right leg bounces up and down rapidly when trying to answer a question by one of our teachers. Why your clothes hang on your body. One I know is skinny but... I think of the times in P.E. I saw you stretch your arms over your head and the way it stretched your torso to its full length and your long thin arms seem to hang in the air like they were on puppet strings. I wanted to reach out and touch you. To feel your smooth skin. The warmth of it.

I know your life here is hard, it is for far too many. The farms struggle with drought, low prices for crops, but skyrocketing prices for supplies, equipment, and a desire of many to leave. I struggle with it. I feel a connection to this place and wonder how strong it really is. I wonder about my future and if it will be somewhere else. I look at you and wonder what you’ll do. How much longer can your family’s store hold on. And if it carries on, will it be your sister that takes over. Then what of you?

When I’m alone, away from the guys, I fantasize about a future. One I can’t see becoming real. One that seems out of reach. But I let its story unfold in my mind. Of us becoming friends…no, more than that. I need to be honest with myself. Truthful about what my attractions are. My sexuality. I need to be honest. I want you. I try to picture it, the two of us together. It always involves us leaving, running away from this place together. A place away from people like Dean.

A Break in Normal

Clay and Seth leave English and head to the bathroom. The corridor is crowded, the chatter a loud white noise. They weave through the throng of other students, greeting Sally and Nancy, telling them to hold them a seat in Biology. Clay had needed a bathroom for the last twenty minutes and rushed to get to the one nearest the administration offices, feeling it was the safer of the two. Seth followed him as they passed some the jocks and pushed through the heavy metal door to the boy’s room.

It smelled of disinfectant and cleaner, which tried to hide the faint smell of urine. Seth went to a urinal while Clay went into the last stall. It was safer, concealed from the others. It was safer, keeping his eyes from looking around. Safer in his lack of exposure.

The door swung open and Clay tensed up. He tried to hurry up and finish, but he had to go so bad it seemed the flow would never stop.

“What are you doing?” Seth cried out, and the stall door squeaked open behind Clay.

“Gotcha, you faggot” said Dean, his voice coming from right behind Clay.

It was less than minute when the door swung open again. Just seconds of time had passed. Eli, Landon, Ricky and Bill came into the bathroom. Dean was at the door of the last stall, his arm moving back and forth as he was punching away. Seth was screaming at Dean to stop. Below the stall they saw Clay’s legs spread out, kicking to get away. The boys rushed Dean, dragged him back from the stall, telling him to stop it. Telling him he’d gone too far.

The door swung open again and Jack, Paul and Wil came rushing in, having heard Seth’s screams. Eli, Seth and Landon went to Clay as the others cornered  Dean. They shouted at each other, made accusations, Dean belligerent as ever. The door swung open again and Principal Davis came storming in. He looked furious at first, then concern as he looked at Clay leaning against the stalls.

“Clay…” Principal Davis uttered in a low voice, then the anger came back, and he turned to the others. “All of you, in my office now. Anyone not there when I return will be suspended for a week.”

“But…” someone began, and he cut them a stern look that ended any protest.

“Now” Principal Davis barked, pointing at the door.

When the other boys had left, Principal Davis moved to Clay. “Come on, let’s get you to the infirmary.”

“I’m okay…it’s nothing…”

“Clay, you’re going.” The same firmness, but without the anger and Clay knew not to argue.

Principal Davis strolled into his office, crowded with the boys. Seth, Wil and Jack sat in the three guest chairs while the others stood against the wall. Dean was in the far corner separate from the others. Davis sensed it, a change in the hierarchy among the boys. Some break in the normal alliances. Looking at Dean, he knew Dean realized it as well. He moved around his desk and stood facing them. He was in charge. He was in control. And the boys knew it or would very shortly.

“I want all of you to wait in the outer office. We’re going to talk one at a time about what happened in there. Anyone lies to me and they’ll get detention for a week for every lie told. I’m serious. Now, all of you go, except you Seth. I want to talk to you first.”

“I want to call my father; this is ridiculous” Dean blurted out.

“He’s being called now” Davis replied looking at Dean with the look of someone who knows he is going to win. That he will win decisively.

Dean lowered his head and followed the others out.

Seth was in Principal Davis’ office for about fifteen minutes. The longest fifteen minutes the others had ever endured. He came out and he looked as if he had been crying but his expression was of someone who was finally getting their way. Someone who was going to win this battle.

“Wil, the principal wants to talk to you next” said Seth as he walked past the boys and left the office.

Slowly, through third period and most of fourth, the boys were called into Davis’ office. Paul, Jack, Ricky, Bill, Eli and finally Landon each took their turn at going into Davis’ office and telling what they saw and what they did when they got there. They each knew Seth was one of Clay’s best friends and therefore the full truth would be known. But it didn’t matter, for none felt any desire to protect Dean. Not when they saw the bloody nose and lip. The eye that looked swollen. The shirt ripped open and the backpack with its contents scattered across the floor.

They knew this was no time to lie. Each told the truth, and saw the principal become someone who wasn’t adversarial, but was trying to look after them. For each one, it came easily, the unfolding of events, how Dean was beating up Clay and it took three of them to pull him off. Landon was last for the principal knew Dean and he had been friends since kindergarten. There was the fear Landon would be the one to try to protect Dean, change the story, lessen the violence behind the attack. But he didn’t. His telling was the most graphic, the most horrific. He gave every detail unflinchingly. Then he went further and told of the abuse Dean suffered at home and how this would surely earn him another beating by his father.

The principal knew the precipice in which he found himself. Dean’s father was in the outer office. His loud voice carrying through the entire administration offices. This had to stop, but he also had to protect not only Clay, but Dean as well. They were boys becoming men and this was a defining moment, one that required a firm hand.

Landon left the office and Davis saw him walk past Dean without looking at him. He saw the break between them with Dean looking down, rejected, for the first time. Dean’s father came into his office more belligerent than he could imagine. The gall of it caused him to have to take a deep breath and firmly tell Mr. Hudson to sit down. He waited for them to sit, to have a moment of silence, enough he felt some control over them. Then he pulled out a folder and opened it on his desk. It was polaroid images of Clay from in the infirmary. Mr. Hudson grimaced then looked at Dean with an anger that scared Davis.

“These are going to the Sheriff McKenzie this afternoon. If anything, and I do mean anything, happens to Clay Etheridge in the future, Dean will be the first suspect and probably the only suspect” said Davis looking Mr. Hudson squarely in the eye. “Do you understand?”

Davis waited till Mr. Hudson finally nodded his head. “Good. Now Dean is suspended for a week and will have detention for remainder of the school year.”

“What?” Dean burst out.

“Shut it” Mr. Hudson barks.

“And Mr. Hudson, let me make something else clear. I know you have abused Dean. That stops now. If I get any indication abuse continues, Sheriff McKenzie will be coming for you.”

“You can’t threaten me…”

“It’s not a threat; it’s a promise. I’m calling your pastor and you wife. I’ll call anyone else I can think of, to reinforce my instructions to you. I will use every avenue available to me to put a stop to bullying not only in this school, but outside of it. You have been warned. Dean, get your things and the two of you can leave.”

The Admirer

I admit it. I cried when I got home. I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve never felt so helpless as when we went into that bathroom and saw what was happening. I have let the small things slide, gave Dean too much leeway. I wanted to just be friends with him and the other boys. Part of the gang. But I also want to be friends with you. I just wanted…

I was glad Dean wasn’t at school the next few days, but not seeing you. That hurt. I went to the store hoping to see you. I could tell it was bad at your home by the way your father stared me down. I wanted to tell him I didn’t do it, but I know, for far too long, I didn’t do anything to stop it. I’m sorry. I talked to your mother, told her how sorry I was about what Dean had done and how I think the principal was putting a stop to it. When I asked about you, I didn’t think she was going to tell me anything. But she did. I wanted to ask if I could come see you, but I was scared to, afraid my reasons would show somehow.

Please hurry up and get well. Please come back to school. The time to graduation is so close. Since the beginning of the year I’ve wanted it to get here as soon as possible. Now, I want time to stop, to give me more time. I feel like everything is slipping through my fingers. For the last year I’ve considered who I am, looked online at sites where other guys are out, openly dating, going to proms with their boyfriends and planning for the future. I have chatted with some of the guys, even dared to set up a meeting, which I’ve never been able to follow through on. It’s crazy, to know yourself, but be unable to express it. And then there is you, whom I don’t even know if you are. Are you? Would you tell me if you were?

The Deafening Silence of Solitude

For days Clay stayed in bed. He hurt all over and his eye had blackened to an ugly violet. Seth, Nancy, Sally and Cindy had come by after school and there were cards and flowers from others. It amazed him. To see some who barely gave him the time of day sign cards or send flowers telling him to hurry up and get well, and to come back to school. He had read the names within the cards, shocked by some he saw. Eli, Bill and Jack, and others were surprising enough, but the one from Landon had been a real surprise.

He had seen Eli on the front porch knocking that morning before school. Persistently he knocked. Luckily no one else was home, already at the store, and he could ignore Eli, look through the small gap in the curtain, waiting for him to finally give up and leave.

The phone rang in the afternoon and he let the old answering machine answer it. He wished for a cell phone, one no one would know the number, then he wished he had answered the calls.

The house creaked with the rising heat of the day. The window units ran hard trying to beat it back within the old farmhouse, with its uninsulated walls and single pane windows. He lay on his bed, wearing only boxers trying to stay cool. His skin felt damp, sweat nearly breaking out on his damaged skin. Bruises and scratches marred his chest and stomach, a long scratch ran down one arm and he felt the dull pain in his face. He was uncomfortable and wanted out. Where he didn’t know. The structure around him, this place that was home, didn’t feel right. It struggled to contain him, to provide for his shelter. And it did nothing for his loneliness.

He heard Dean’s accusation over and over. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. He feared it, this labeling, and wondered if others would say it if he went back to school. Principal Davis set it up to where he didn’t have to go back. He could finish his course work at home. But the principal also told him he should come back. Take a stand and not let it hurt him more than it had. He knew the principal was right, but he didn’t know if he could do it.

He felt his isolation. His loneliness. The silence of it. The way time seemed to measure out slowly, painfully giving him the time to relive it. Dean in his face. That first punch that hit him in the mouth. His fall, then Dean holding him by his shirt and the sound of it ripping.

He pulled out his journal. A cheap spiral notebook he kept hidden in his nightstand. He didn’t write in it regularly and far too often, not even honestly. Not the way he should. But he wrote when he was down, or when he had ideas about his future he didn’t want to lose. Opening it, he saw it had been only a few days since his last entry. He scrawled the day’s date and began to write.

He wrote about the last few days. Purged it from his system, putting down his fear and pain into words. He wrote furiously, the letters slanted and uneven, reflecting some race across the page, accelerating toward some conclusion, some insight. Or just a relief to tell the story.

He heard the back door open and close and assumed it was his mother or sister come to check on him. He heard the footsteps through the kitchen, dining room then the short hall, Tentatively, they drew near. Slower than usual. Something wasn’t right. Sliding his journal under his pillow he turned to get up. His door squeaked open and he found himself holding his breath. He knew it wasn’t his mother or sister. He feared it was Dean coming to finish him off. Fingers wrapped around the door and eased it open.

“Clay…Clay, you in there?” said Landon easing his head into the narrow gap.

“Landon? What are you doing here?”

“Your mother said I should stop by; said it’d be okay.”

“My mother…”

“Clay, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Clay responded defiantly. He knew why Landon should be sorry and he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear excuses. For a moment neither said anything. Clay sat on his bed waiting, wondering what would make Landon come to his house in the middle of morning, skipping school to do so. Then Landon began to speak. At first the words meant nothing to Clay. He considered them empty gestures. But Landon’s tone changed, the seriousness of it. Landon moved closer, grimacing when he saw Clay’s face and torso, but he didn’t stop. The words changed; they bridged the gap between them. Clay felt some release, some reduction in the pain he felt. He heard the words of apology, of not knowing what to do at times. He felt the meaning of those words, the insecurity of them, of boys trying to be men, using all the wrong aspects that they thought gave meaning to it. Then Landon eased down on his bed next to him. They sat in silence. Clay didn’t know what to do. Landon was too close. But when Landon turned and hugged him, whispering once again “I’m sorry” it was over, his anger at the others. Even his anger toward Landon. He hugged him back and whispered “thanks”.

Landon stood to leave, eyes scanning the dresser with all the cards and flowers on it, then he looked back at Clay, hands in his pockets, rocking on his feet.

“Clay.”

“Yeah?”

“The others want to see you.”

Clay knew who he meant. The ‘others’ were the other guys who had been there. He wanted to say no. Wanted some means of not dealing with it anymore. He looked at Landon and nodded his head yes.

“I’ll tell them when I get to school” said Landon giving Clay a weak smile. He moved to the door and swung it open.

“Landon?” Clay called out as he was about to step out.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for skipping?”

Landon smiled, then shook his head. “No…I went to Principal Davis and he gave me permission. He even encouraged me to come.”

That afternoon others showed up. Ricky, Jack and Eli came over. Even Owen, Eli’s younger brother tagged along. Clay knew Owen was in the tenth grade and reflected the same features as Eli. Jet black hair, dark skin, but in a taller leaner body. At first it was awkward, just as it had been with Landon, but when they sat on the floor and pulled out a deck of cards, a calm settled over them. Their banter became casual, that of high school boys joking around, talking about girls, graduation and what they were going to do during their first summer after school.

Clay felt at ease, sitting next to Jack and Eli, Ricky across from him, his partner in their card game. Owen sat outside the circle between Ricky and Eli. Clay didn’t think about the situation, sitting among other guys, so close their knees bumped on occasion. He looked at them, not out of a sense of attraction but trying to read their expressions, in a search for some upper hand in the game. Jack was rambunctious, slapping down cards and exclaiming his play. Ricky was quieter, more deliberate in his play while Eli seemed distracted, never knowing who’s turn it was or what he should play next. He saw the way they bantered back and forth with each other. The casual jest or poke at some comment or bad play, and he wondered how he had not been able to be a part of this before. It was only Owen that spooked him. Time and time again he caught Owen staring at him. Boldly not looking away when caught, instead smiling, mischievously, as if he could read Clay’s mind. Clay tried to dismiss it, telling himself Owen was only a tenth grader, sixteen at best. No way could Owen read him, know his deepest secret, something not even his friends knew. He found himself the one unable to hold eye contact, unable to acknowledge the stare and the knowing smiles.

Looking over at Eli he wanted to say something, some dig at Owen that would stop him. Make some comment that big brother would come to his rescue, but Eli was either oblivious or refused to deal with Owen. It was as if Owen were the older of the two.

“Eli, it’s your turn” said Ricky bringing both Eli and Clay back into the game. Eli blushed, stammered about the last play and fumbled with his cards. When he laid down a card, Ricky and Clay laughed. It was another bad play, one that played into Clay’s hands, allowing him to score big.

Clay nudged Eli’s knee, shaking his head at the bad move. Eli glanced at him, then quickly looked away. Never had he seemed so nervous, out of place. Jack looked at his hand trying to decide on his next move when the door opened. Charlene, Clay’s sister stood at it, looking around the room as if never been in it before.

“Hey Ricky, your mom called and said you needed to get home.”

“Okay. Hey guys, got to go” said Ricky as he tossed his cards on the floor between them.

“Well, we should go to” Eli said, and within a few minutes Clay found himself alone in his room. But this time was different. He didn’t feel so isolated. So different or apart from the others.

Seth called a few minutes later and Clay told him to come on over.

The Admirer

When I was at your house, I wanted to tell you how I feel. I wanted to confess, to be honest, really honest, for once in my life. I don’t know why it has to  be so hard. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid you’ll reject me, tell me you’re not that way. I think I could handle it, if only you told me you understood, and wouldn’t judge me for it. Maybe. But maybe I’m afraid you are like me and will reject me for other reasons. Reasons that may strike too close to home. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.

You’re looking better, even though that eye is really black. A real shiner. I can’t tell you how it pained me to see all those bruises. I know we should have done more to stop Dean in the past, when it was just snide comments and the occasional knocking of a book out of your hand. But it was too easy to take the coward’s way out. To just laugh with the others and pretend it was all just a joke.

I lay here in the dark thinking about you more and more. It’s like you’re about to leave forever and I don’t know how to stop you. Our time together in school is nearly over and, in a few months, when you are somewhere else, I won’t even be a memory. Just some vague name from the past, forgotten, while you make a life for yourself. It’s crazy, for if you knew. If you knew. It doesn’t make sense. I know there are others out there. Guys looking all the time, trying to meet up. I seen their post online, some near here.

I do fantasize about you. Sexual fantasies. I picture you excited by me, aroused by me. I picture us alone in your room. I picture me before you. On my knees. I’d do it too. I’d do whatever you wanted. I’d give myself to you if only…

If I write it, will it come true?

The Reveal

The next day, after school had let out, Clay found his room even more crowded. Seth came with Jack and Wil, and closely behind them Eli and Landon arrived, once again with Owen in tow. Ricky and Bill arrived at the same time as Nancy. It was Friday, and everyone felt released from their routines, the need to do homework, or chores, all sitting on the floor or on Clay’s bed, hanging out. Cindy and Sally arrived a few minutes later, carrying large pizzas.

Clay turned on his small shelf stereo and loaded a CD, one his sister had given him. The sound of instruments played in the background as they passed the pizza boxes around the room, each one taking a slice of their choice. There were too many of them, all crowded in his room. Too many to allow those dark thoughts to creep in, or his fears and anxieties to exert themselves. Looking at one guy after the next, listening to what he was saying didn’t cross any line, didn’t feel like he had to hide behind only quick glances or look away in apparent shyness, afraid his expression would give him away.

But as at ease as he was, he still was conscious of his looking at the other guys in a way that he knew they did not look back. His friend Seth, compact body and long hair with clothes layered up, far too much for the heat. There were times he wondered about Seth. Considered what it might be like if they were more than friends. But he knew his friend, more so than anyone else. Looking around the room, he considered Jack, Ricky and the others. For most of them, it didn’t fit. The image he tried to create of them, a guy with the kind of thoughts he had, of two guys more than just friends. At first, he questioned Eli, but there was something about his distracted mannerism that didn’t fit. He was an enigma, the one he couldn’t read. Then there was Landon. The memory of that hug came back to him, the tightness of the embrace against the soft low voice that whispered. “I’m sorry”. When no one was looking he caught Landon looking at him. Serious, questioning looks that seemed to want to say something.

But it was Owen that rattled him.

Once again, he caught Owen looking at him, like he was reading him, seeing through his eyes into his mind. More than once he asked within his private thoughts if Owen could hear him, half expecting Owen to answer ‘yes’. It was late when everyone finally began to leave. They left in groups, the number dropping quickly until Clay found himself sitting on his bed with Landon, Seth and Eli, with Owen nearby. There was an awkward moment when no one seemed to know what to say. Landon shifted position then looking down, fingers raking over the quilt, he began to talk in a low voice.

“Clay, I want to apologize…”

Clay tried to stop him a couple of times but Eli, then Seth told him to let Landon continue. He listened to Landon’s confession, once again apologizing for letting Dean be a bully. When it looked as if Landon was going to go on after a brief pause, Clay reached out and touched his arm. Looking up, Landon remained quiet.

“It’s okay. Let it go” Clay responded. Landon nodded.

“Guys I’m beat and need to go” said Seth as he stood by the bed. “Let’s go into town tomorrow?” he asked, looking at Clay.

“Maybe” Clay replied, knowing he wasn’t ready to go out in public. To go out and let some see their gossip had a grain of truth, with his eye still dark and the cut on his lip not healed.

“Okay.” Seth knew not to push it, not yet.

Clay watched the guys leave, Eli, Seth, Owen and finally Landon heading out. He heard them speak to his parents then the back door open. He laid back, the night over and took a deep breath. Suddenly his door swung open and Owen walked in.

“Hey, I forgot my backpack” as he crossed the room and picked it up from the far corner. Clay watched him approach, set it on the bed unzipping it. Owen reached inside and pulled out his math textbook and flipped it open. There were several cards inside that he handed to Clay. Leaning close, voice lowered, “I found these in Eli’s backpack. He’d kill me if he knew I took them. Just know there are more. A lot more.”

“I don’t’ understand?”

“Look, Clay, I may be just a kid to you guys, and I may be wrong, but I’ve seen how you look at them. I’ve seen that look before. Eli has it.”

“What…no…what are…”

“Clay. I’m not saying anything, to anybody. Just read these. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Backpack zipped up, Owen flung it around and over his shoulder and walked out. Clay looked at the cards in his hand, the scrawling script on each one, all the same thing, his name. For a long time, he just held the cards, staring at them, waiting on some secret to be revealed, knowing he had to open them to discover it. There were nine of them and he flipped through them looking at his name, over and over. Nine times he saw Eli’s handwriting, the rough script that spelled out his name. Clay. Clay. Clay. Clay. Clay. Clay. Clay. Clay. Clay. His heart raced in his chest. He found himself holding his breath and made himself breathe. He heard his sister go to her room and he started to shove the cards under his pillow. He didn’t know what was contained within them. What confessions Eli had made, but he felt something dangerous about them. Something that could not be put back once released.

He picked one, randomly from the middle. He opened it and pulled out the small card, one with an image of a beach. It looked like Destin, or Fort Walton or Pensacola. It didn’t matter. He flipped it open and looked at the now familiar script, angled on the page, rising upward as it went across the page.

“I see you all the time. At school where you sit in the second row in Mrs. English’s class, or in the third row by the windows…”

It took his breath away.

He didn’t finish it, couldn’t’ focus enough to do so. He opened another card. This one an image of sky at sunset. The colors were vivid. Red, orange, blue, violet, purple, and so many others. It shook in his hand, knowing this would be another confession.

He opened it and began to read. The words came out in fragments, phrases he recognized, pleadings too familiar.

“…hurry up…come back…I’ve wanted…I want…more time. I feel like everything is slipping through my fingers…”

The realization someone else had these feelings. These thoughts he had had himself. He looked at the drawer of his nightstand where his journal was secreted away. Tossing the card on the bed, he opened another. The card was a mountain trail, with a lone hiker walking away from the camera. Flipping it open he saw the familiar handwriting and began to read.

“When I was at your house, I wanted to tell you how I feel. I wanted to confess, to be honest, really honest, for once in my life. I don’t know why I let it be so hard. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid you’ll reject me…”

Clay gasped at the honesty of Eli’s confession. How the writing got worse, the lines shaky, like each word took an enormous effort.

“…I’d do whatever you wanted. I’d give myself to you if only…

If I write it, will it come true?”

Clay smiled at the sexual nature of Eli’s final confession. He let the card fall on his bed as he stared up at the ceiling trying to image Eli writing it. He was going to stop there, lay the cards aside and just dwell on what he had read so far. Besides, that card had to be the last one. It was written sometime late last night. Absentmindedly he pushed the other cards around on the bed. He looked at his name, with the crooked ‘C’ and ‘y’ at the end that trailed off too long. Then he noticed that all of them had been written in black ink, except one. One card had his name in blue.

He opened it.

The card was handmade, just folded stock paper with an image glued on front. He didn’t recognize it. It was a photograph taken at school. A casual shot of everyone hanging out at the picnic tables, probably during lunch break one day this past winter, judging by the coats everyone was wearing. Across the bottom were notes about the image, and he realized it was something the annual staff was considering for their yearbook. He looked at it, where Eli had taken a black marker and circled someone in the background. Someone standing alone, leaning against the wall looking to the side, unaware of the camera. Someone that he recognized as himself.

“I’m kidding myself. After last night I know I can’t do it. I want to tell you how I feel. But I know I won’t. I look at my brother, only two years younger, and I see someone so much more confident. So, sure of himself. I bet he’d do it without a moment’s consideration of the consequences. I confess this in cards, telling myself I can mail them, just finish addressing them to you and drop them in the mailbox in town where I cannot retrieve them. 

I won’t do it. Not even that. I’m sitting in a stall at school, scared to death someone will catch me as I write this. Crazy, but these cards have become some sort of crutch. A way for me to stop dwelling on it. On you. It doesn’t work, but it helps.

I want…”

The card wasn’t finished, the last phrase just hanging there.

 Discovery

Eli roamed aimlessly around the discount store in town, eyes not focused on anything. He hadn’t called anyone to come hangout, even slipping out of his home so Owen wouldn’t want to tag along. He told himself it was to think, to gather his thoughts together. But he knew that wasn’t true. There was nothing to think about. He’d written it all down. All of it. Or as much as he could. Now it just haunted him. Made him lay awake at night. Made him feel a fool whenever he had been around Clay. He wanted closure. Some way to end this obsession. He considered burning the cards. On the way to town he had even driven down to Black Water Bridge with the intent of doing just that, but there were others there, swimming in the creek and goofing off on the sandy bank by the road.

He thought about mailing them but knew he wouldn’t do it. He unzipped his backpack and looked at the thick stack of cards in the back pocket. He rubbed his finger over their top edges wondering if he should just throw them in a trash can. But he feared someone finding one of them, reading it, his private thoughts, and he zipped the backpack and tossed in the footwell.

He walked up Main Street, all three blocks, and back down. He went into the drug store and ordered a drink at the counter in back. He cut into the pawn shop to avoid Jack and his father going into the bank. He did the same into a sewing and quilting store to avoid Landon and Ricky. He watched them go into the drug store, then turned to see the women of the store staring at him as he were an alien. Maybe he was, he thought, as he excused himself and slipped out.

It was nearing noon and downtown was getting busy for a Saturday. People on the sidewalks browsing the few storefronts with displays. It was the last place he wanted to be. He cut around the corner on 3rd, heading to the parking lot behind the abandoned hardware store. His Cherokee sat near the back, under a lone oak tree struggling to survive in the narrow strip between asphalt lots. The Cherokee’s back window reflected the harsh noonday sun making him squint.

Door unlocked he climbed up into the driver’s seat and held the steering wheel as he stared straight ahead. How long he sat here he didn’t know, but suddenly he realized there was a small envelope under the windshield wiper. A simple white rectangle, stark against its background. He held his breath, thinking it was a mistake. Someone put it on the wrong vehicle. Then he thought it had to be some church bulletin trying to round up more members. He stepped out and reached around slipping the card free. Back inside, door closed and motor running so he could have air conditioning, he held the blank envelop up in front of him. He flipped it around a few times as if it would relay some message, invisible ink suddenly visible or some other special means.

He tore the flap loose and pulled out the card inside. It was notebook paper folded till it fit inside. Drawn on the front was an eye. It wasn’t very good, the lines uneven and overlapping too much. Opening it he saw handwriting that was familiar. The printed letters he had looked at before when no one was watching. Blocky, uneven, the lines of text climbing upward as they moved across the page.

Eli

I see you too. Don’t ask me how I know, but just know I do. 

If I ask you first, will you overcome your fear? If I ask you first, can you accept it? If I ask you first, can you not care what others may think? 

Clay

Eli struggled to breathe. His hands began to shake. For a moment he thought he was having a heart attack. He grabbed up his backpack and unzipped it, pulling out books, tossing them on the passenger seat till he was at the pocket in back. He pulled it open and quickly thumbed through the cards. It seemed like they were all there, but when he did it again, looking at the front, he knew a few were missing, especially the last one.

A tap on the side window and Eli jerked around. He saw the black eye first, so deeply bruised it still made him wince. He saw the healing lip, and the tall lean frame dressed in a t-shirt with a ballcap pulled low.

He saw Clay standing by his door. Then he saw movement behind him; it was his brother standing a few feet away.

Eli lowered his window, trying to figure out what to say. Clay stepped up closer, resting his arm on the door.

“Hey, Eli, Owen and I was wondering if you could give us each a ride home. He told your mom you would.”

For a moment he didn’t know what to say, then he saw Clay smile and he began to laugh. Owen walked up and stood next to Clay.

“Unlock the doors. It’s hot out here” said Owen as he pulled on the rear door handle.

There would be no confrontation. No stammering of denials or raised voices in accusation. Owen admitted he took the cards, unapologetically, saying it had to be done. Eli dropped off his brother, who made no protest to stay with them. Owen simply winked at Clay and climbed out.

Eli drove to Clay’s house. They would be alone there, everyone else at the store working. They moved through the house quietly making their way to Clay’s room. Eli went in first and Clay followed, closing the door and locking it, making sure no one could come in.

Eli stood by the bed, suddenly feeling anxious, unsure what was expected. He’d had so many fantasies about this moment, he didn’t know what to think. He raced through things to say, or how he should respond, realizing it was all so much more than his fantasies. It was more exciting and scarier and thrilling and intimate than he dared dreamed. Clay came up close, standing only inches away. Eli looked up into his eyes, and saw they were so vivid blue they looked liquid. He saw the freckles that crossed over the nose and the way blonde hair hung down covering one eye. And he saw the thin line of lips, with their turn upward on each end and the contour below his nose. He saw them move toward him and he closed his eyes.

The first touch was gentle, barely any pressure against his own lips. The pressure increased. He pushed back against them, suddenly awakened to this moment. This moment when Clay was pulling their bodies together. They moved against each other, feeling their sex become aroused. Clay kissed him roughly, passionately, open mouth taking his tongue.

He never wanted anything more than this moment with Clay. He moved back and tugged Clay’s t-shirt up pulling it off. He put his hand against the chest and raked the back of his fingers down over the sternum then over the right nipple. He felt the hard center against his fingers as Clay shivered. He leaned to it and kissed it, raked his tongue over it then put his lips over it and sucked. Clay moaned while pushing his fingers through Eli’s black hair. Clay grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back, Clay gasping, begging him to stop.

He moved to Clay’s neck and kissed it, dragged his tongue over it, upward till he was following the curve of the right ear.

“Don’t make me stop next time” he whispered in Clay’s ear, lips grazing the skin as he spoke.

He moved back to Clay’s chest, kissing a scratch, then one of the bruises that was fading. He began to stoop down, keeping his lips in contact with Clay’s chest. He moved slowly, raking his tongue and lips over the smooth skin, down till he was on his knees, his lips moving horizontally along the top of the waistband. The stomach undulated more and more and the gap at the waistband tempted him, made him want more. He ran his tongue down and felt the waistband of Clay’s underwear and knew he had further to go before he got what he wanted.

Clay didn’t slow him, did nothing to stop him as he unfastened the jeans, pulled down their zipper and buried his face in the boxers within. He smelled Clay’s scent and breathed in deeper. He mouthed the fabric, blindly searching for it, feeling it thickness against his cheek, then his lips. He kissed it, ran his lips along the exposed length then pushed his tongue through the fly feeling bare skin.

Clay’s hands held his head loosely, fingers working through his hair. He looked upward and saw Clay standing open mouthed and eyes closed, as if ready to cry out. He took the jeans and boxers at the waist and tugged down. They slipped over Clay’s ass then he worked them over the erection that held them up. They fell to the floor and he guided Clay to step free of them. He wanted Clay naked, fully exposed to him. He kissed near the navel, then downward till the flared head of Clay’s cock rubbed against his cheek and he turned and took it in his mouth. Inch after inch slipped through his lips and filled his mouth. He pulled back till only the head was in his mouth, then took it again. Over and over, he worked his mouth on Clay’s cock till the hands held his head and fucked his mouth. He held still, taking it, wanting it. The cock filled his mouth till he nearly gagged, but he took it, every inch Clay would give him.

Their moans and grunts echoed in the small room. Their sex made it feel hotter. Their skin burned with desire, every touch hot, quickly growing slick with the contact. Eli clung to Clay’s legs, held on with desperation as he took every thrust into his mouth. Clay pushed in deeper gagging him, but he held on. He moved in rhythm with Clay, watching the flat abdomen come toward his face, then pull away, over and over, the repetition of it hypnotic. He slid his hands up and felt the cheeks flex with Clay’s movements. With his right hand he slipped his fingers between them, raked them up and down the tight space. Clay’s movements became erratic, his moans louder, as he rubbed his fingers over Clay’s tightness, feeling it resist his ministrations. Clay grabbed his hand and pushed it harder against his tightness.

“Do it…please…put them in me” Clay uttered as he rocked between Eli’s mouth and the fingers at his opening.

He pressed his finger against the tightness then breached it, sinking into Clay’s depths, pushing as far as he could go. Clay shuddered with the penetration, his cock grew thicker in Eli’s mouth, then it gushed out its load. Thick wads of cum choked Eli, filled his mouth to overflowing, dribbling down his chin. He swallowed, and swallowed, taking what he could as Clay continued to spurt wad after wad into his mouth.

He kept his lips tight to the thick shaft as he drew back, milking it, drawing out all of Clay’s first load. Then he kissed the head and stood facing him.

Clay moved trance like, suddenly submissive to Eli. He undid each button of Eli’s shirt, worked it gently off his shoulders. He undid Eli’s belt, tugged it through the loops, tossing it on the floor. Jeans were unbuttoned, zipper tugged down, and Clay went down on his knees dragging boxers and jeans with him. He helped Eli step free of them, tossing them aside, then he took Eli in hand, tugged on it, pulled the sac down watching the hard cock bob up and down. It drooled out a clear drop that began to trail down toward the floor and Clay caught it on his tongue. He thought of the taste as being Eli, some essence of him and he rose to the cock. Long and lean, sticking straight out, he slipped the head in his mouth and took what he could of its length.

Eli shivered, never having felt anything so good before. The sense of being touched ran up and down his spine. He stood, fists balled up, toes curled, and let Clay take him. The slick mouth moved along his cock, the tongue teased it, licked over the head. He thought he would fall over. The room was spinning as if he were drunk.

Clay walked him back to the bed and pushed him back on it, legs hanging over the side, pushed apart as Clay moved up between them. He threw his arms out over his head, closed his eyes and centered his entire being on the sensations Clay was giving him. The soft heat that enveloped his cock. The gentle suction of it, its movement along its length, lips tight, milking it, drawing him near. Then he felt the probing fingers, the touching further down, seeking entry. He brought his feet up, each placed on the edge of the mattress, far apart. He opened himself to Clay and felt the penetration, the push inward, twisting and stretching him open.

He submitted to all it. Anything Clay wanted.

Clay slipped his arms underneath each leg and rose, letting each leg fall into the crook of his elbow, then straightening each, the calves sliding up each bicep till they rested on his shoulders. Clay stroked Eli’s cock, his hand quickly becoming slick. Then he pushed his own cock down, it so hard again it ached for release. He rubbed the wet head over Eli, smeared his slickness over the tight opening, then pushed against it.

“Let me in” Clay uttered as he moved over Eli, folding him in half. Eli’s ass rose up off the bed and Clay pushed against Eli’s tightness till he felt the squeeze on the head, then the shaft as inch after inch sank into Eli’s depths.

It was never like this in his imaginings. Never could he fantasize such sensations. Or this pure need to feel his cock inside another guy. The tightness of it, as he sunk fully into Eli. He pushed against Eli’s ass trying to get deeper feeling the shuddering body beneath him. Then he heard the soft whisperings, the repetition of it, over and over. Leaning over on top of Eli, he kissed his neck, nipped at the earlobe and dragged his lips to Eli’s moving lips. He heard the words for the first time.

“Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.”

Clay pulled outward, letting Eli’s tightness milk his cock, then he pushed back in, slowly, all the way, grinding his abdomen against him. He savored the feel of it, this connection between them. His cock buried in Eli. His pace slowly increased till he was fucking, driving his hips harder, faster, their bodies smacking together. Eli clung to him, and he felt the hands slide slickly down his back to his ass pulling him to go as deep as possible.

He rose up on his hands giving himself the room to move, to undulate his body till his muscles ached. He was burning up, sweat trickling down his face, his chest and his back. The bed squeaked and shook, till it was rocking across the floor. Their fuck became physical, desires driving them. Clay opened his eyes and watched Eli, the way he moved beneath him, the way his Adam’s apple moved as he continued his soft mutterings then the louder cries, the pleadings for him to fuck harder. He shifted on his knees and fucked with all his remaining strength.

He watched Eli stroke his own cock, harder and harder, as he hammered away at his hole, fucking it roughly, the smack of their bodies coming together louder than Eli’s cries. Eli shuddered beneath him, cried out like an animal. Cum hit him in the chest and face and looking down he saw it spattered over Eli from his face down to his slick slimy hand. The smell of it was intoxicating, this scent like no other, and he felt his own need rise, every muscle tensed tight. It surged through him and he shoved into Eli, all the way, grinding his abdomen against Eli’s ass and came. He shuddered with each release, jabbing against Eli’s ass trying to get inside him deeper. To be a part of him.

Then he collapsed on top of the sweaty, heaving body.

 Eli’s cell phone rang and after fumbling around for it, Eli finally found it in his jeans on the floor.

“Hello.”

“Eli, mom wants to know when you’ll be home?” Owen asked from the other end of the connection.

“I…uh, I…”

“I’ll tell her you’re staying at Clay’s tonight.”

“Okay.”

“You are at Clay’s, right?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

Owen laughed and the connection ended.