2 posts tagged “dribble”

A lot of what happened those first four years is a blur. I remember thinking of it as some sort of game.  

My first solid memory didn't happen until I was almost five.  We--my father and I--were in some random town that I don't know the name of.  It was late spring.  My birthday was a few weeks away.  We were eating TV dinners and dad had a glass of amber-colored alcohol on his tray.  I remember broaching the subject carefully, because the alcohol made him angry.

"Hey, dad?"

A grunt.

I cleared my throat.  "Um.  Tommy, at school, says that kids get presents for their birthday."

"Does he?"

I felt encouraged.  Maybe dad just didn't know.  "Yeah.  And I asked him if it was just some kids... and he said it was all kids."

"Uh-huh," his eyes didn't leave the television.

"So, uh... I was wondering... if maybe I could have presents on my birthday?"

I watched him, hopeful.  The seconds stretched on and he didn't look at me or speak.  

It was sudden.  I was aware of the television's sudden jump in volume.  I looked at it for just a second, and then...

And then he was furious.  His hands on my shoulders, neck, arms.  He was shaking me and yelling.  I didn't even know what he said.  I was so terrified that nothing penetrated the fear except pain.  I think I screamed--a lot.  And afterwards I know that I cried for hours, huddled on my pile of blankets in the corner.

The bruises, it turned out, worked to our advantage, since we were claiming that I was a leukemia patient.  Nobody asked questions.  Kids with leukemia got bruises all the time.

We raised $1200 at the school alone and skipped town just as someone was double-checking on my doctor.

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Tyler leaned against John: bak to chest, with John's arm around his shoulder and laying across his chest.  The television was playing quietly around them.

"John?"

The screen flickered from the newscasters to a commercial for flu medicine and John changed the channel.  "Yeah?"

Tyler picked up the hand on his chest and entwined their fingers.  "I think I want to adopt."

The younger man looked away from the television and over at Ty.  "Adopt what?"

The blond man gave the other's cheek a gentle shove.  "A kid, of course."

"Now we're talking kid as in goat, yea?"

Tyler shifted against him to look at his lover.  "No.  I mean kid as in child, baby, infant.  I want a son or daughter."

John grinned.  "Well, you could do that," he pressed a couple kisses against the older boy's neck, "but then we couldn't just have fun whenever we wanted."  His arm slid off of Tyler's shoulder and down around his waist, dipping his fingers under the shirt.

The blond boy laughed softly, pulling back a little as the redhead tried to catch his lips.  "I'm serious, John."

John settled for nibbling his lover's ear.  "Mm.  All right, but we better wait till you're fully recovered.  And we still don't know how the chemo is going to affect you.  You can apply next year."

"It takes a while for those applications to go through.  I think I should apply now."

"Tyler."  John pulled back and looked at his lover.  "I don't think you should adopt at all."

"What, you want to knock me up yourself?" he grinned teasingly.

His lover didn't smile.  "No.  I don't think it's fair to put a kid through that."

"Through what?  Having someone that gives a shit about them?"  He pulled away from John, turning to face him.

"You know that's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?"

"I mean that I don't think it's fair to adopt a kid when you're only going to live for another year!"

Both of the boys went silent and stared at each other while the television hummed quietly.

John watched the startlement change to hurt and then to anger on his lover's face.

"Tyler," he reached over, but Ty pulled back.  "That came out all wrong."

"Get out."

"I didn't mean it.  I--"

"Get out!"

John reached for Tyler again, but the blond stood up and out of reach.  "Get.  Out."

"Let me explain..."

"Get out or I'll throw you out!"

Frustration got the better of the Irishman.  "Why?  So that you can call Alabaster and have a go with him?"  John saw the hurt on Tyler's face, but couldn't help himself as he pressed on.  "Yer jus' some damn whore!  What with Al and Sam an' Ryan an' Greg!  It's a slight wonder ye got cancer instead o' AIDS!"

There was a pause.  Tyler's face was miserable and hurt.  He looked ill and on the verge of tears.  John wanted to run to him, wrap him up in his arms, and apologize... but he didn't.

After a minute, Tyler's voice--barely a whisper--broke the silence between them.  "Get out."

John stood, grabbed his coat, and left.

The blond boy collapsed onto the sofa, tears flowing down his cheeks, and he stared at his phone.  Up until John's last outburst, he'd planned on calling Al, but now he couldn't.

He'd been handed his death sentence.  He was dying.  It hadn't been real until that moment.  He was dying and he was alone and both were inevitable.

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Sorry for the depressing-ness of the second one.  I have no idea where that came from, but it came out pretty good, I think (I used their names too much, but oh well).  

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2:01 a.m.  

He stared blearily at the clock, momentarily lost as to why he was suddenly awake.

Bang.  Bang.  BANG.

Oh, that was why.  He groaned and carefully rolled out of bed, his feet hitting the floor with the practiced ease of a good night's rest.  The lights stayed off as he made his way through the small house and to the front door.

BANG!

The boy on the other side of the door stopped mid-swing as the door was pulled open.

His exhaustion was momentarily forgotten at the site of the other.  "Holy shit.  Cameron, what happened?"  He gently took a hold of his upper arm and pulled the boy inside, peeking his head outside and looking around before ducking back inside.  He shut and locked the door, then turned to the boy, flicking on the entranceway light and wincing.

"It looks worse than it is."  The boy's eyes winced away from the light and he raised an arm to block it, revealing another line of bruising.

"Good gods.  Come here, sit down."

He gently took the boy by his elbow and led him to the sofa, sitting him down.  He examined the bruising on the side of his face and gently turned his jaw to see the line along his neck.

"I just need a place to stay for the night," Cameron said, turning his head away from the examining eyes.  "Is it okay?"

"Of course.  Stay here.  I'm going to go and get you some ice to try and keep that bruising down."  He looked worriedly at the boy, then stood and headed to the kitchen, getting a bag of ice and wrapping it in a few paper towels.  When he went back to the living room, Cameron had leaned back into the sofa and was slouched, fast asleep.  He moved to the other and set down the ice.  He pulled off the younger boy's mismatched sneakers and then shifted him around to lay down.  He covered him with a blanket and sat beside him, holding the ice against the boy's cheek, watching him.

7:34 a.m.

There was a wince of pain from the other end of the sofa.  His eyes opened.  Cameron was sitting up, a hand against his side.

He sat up himself, feeling the crick in his neck stiffen with the motion and rubbing it.  "Hey.  Are you all right?"

Cam nodded a little.  "Yeah, just slept weird, I think."

"The ice didn't do a lot of good."  He looked at the bruising on his face.  "How's it feel?"

"Like I was hit by a bat."

"Were you?"

The boy smiled a little, a twisted cariacture on the abused face.  "No, nothing quite so dramatic."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head, frowning worriedly.  "No."

"Cameron..."

"I have to go to the bathroom.  I'll be right back."  He slid to his feet, stumbling a little, he caught himself on the arm and then limped his way towards the hallway.

He watched the boy walking and wondered about the extent of his injuries, worrying his lower lip between his teeth and forcing himself to his feet, making his way to the kitchen to put on a kettle.

A few minutes later, Cam inched his way in and over to the table, sitting down.

"I have to go to work soon.  Do you want to stay here while I'm gone?"

"No, thank you.  I'd better get home."

"Cam, who did that to you?"

The boy looked away, nibbling on his thumbnail.

"Cam?"

"Marc."

He blinked in surprise.  "Marc?  Your foster father?" 

"You don't believe me, do you?"  Tears frosted over the younger boy's eyes.

"No, no, that's not it.  I'm just surprised, that's all."  He moved over and sat by him.  "What happened?"

"He tried--- He wanted--- I couldn't---"  He covered his mouth, seemingly fighting back hysteria, his eyes panicked.  

"Shh.  Easy.  Take it slow."

He took a few deep breaths and hiccuped.  "He... I was doing my homework... and he said he wanted my help, so I went with him to their room."

"His and Teresa's?"

He nodded.

"What happened then?"

"She... she was waiting there, on the bed."  He shuddered and covered his mouth again.  After he'd regained control, he continued.  "She was just in her underwear, and Marc locked the door.  They want another baby, so Greg can have a brother or sister of his own, but.... but Marc... he can't have anymore kids, so they wanted..."

He felt sick as he watched the horror descend on his friend's face.  He hesitated to reach out to him, worried how Cameron might interpret the gesture.

"They wanted me to have sex with her, so she could get pregnant, but, I couldn't.  I couldn't do anything.  She was kissing me and touching me and they pulled my clothes off, even though I told them I didn't want to... they said I owed them, for letting me stay with them..."  He swallowed, his whole body trembling.  "I couldn't."  He shook his head.  "I couldn't even get hard, and they got so angry... and they started yelling, and then Marc just flipped.  I've never seen him like that...I thought he was going to kill me."

He reached over and gently wrapped his arms around the boy, hugging him close.  "It's all right, Cam.  Look, you can't go back there.  I'm going to call off work, and then we're going to the police station and you're going to tell them everything you just told me."

The boy gasped and shoved him away.  "No.  No, you don't understand, I can't do that!"

"Cam, he almost killed you last night..."

"Only 'cause I couldn't do what he wanted me to... they did so much for me, I should have been able to repay them."

"You don't have to repay them.  They're supposed to be doing that because they care about you, not just so they can get another legitimate kid out of it." 

"You don't understand!"

He gently grabbed Cam's upper arms, looking at him seriously.  "Cam, I do, I really do.  You're grateful and you're embarrassed and you think you owe these people something, but you don't.  They're supposed to be acting as your parents, not using you as a stud to have more kids.  You're just confused, but you have to realize that what they did last night is not right.  Nothing gives them the right to try and use you like that or beat the hell out of you like that.  All right?  They are in the wrong.  You didn't do anything wrong."

Cameron had tears in his eyes, trying to dislodge himself from the older man's grip.  His hands tightened into fists.  "Shut up!  Let go of me!  You don't know anything!  I should have been able to!  They needed me!"  His voice cracked as he let out a miserable sob, his knees going weak.  Cameron collapsed to the floor, his face in his hands.  "What's wrong with me?  Oh my god.  Why?  I don't understand."

He knelt in front of Cameron.  "There is nothing wrong with you.  Just because you didn't want to do it with her doesn't mean anything.  You were put on the spot.  You couldn't do it because you were afraid and you knew it was wrong."  He gently pushed the hair out of the boy's face.  "Cam, it's going to be all right.  Let me go and call my job, then we'll go together.  I won't leave your side, I promise."

"I can't... I can't... What about Greg?  What would happen to him?  And me?  Where would I go?  I can't go back to jumping from house to house... I can't."

"Shh.  Listen to me.  Take a deep breath.  We'll worry about all that later.  What I am most concerned about is getting you out of there and someplace safe, and Greg too.  We don't want them trying to do this to Greg, too.  All right?  We can't let them do this to anyone else, right?"  He stood and got some tissues, then helped Cam into a chair, giving him the box.  

Cameron accepted the tissues and wiped at his nose and face.  The struggle between calm and hysteria was plain on his face.