This story is fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. These stories have as their main character a sexually active gay teenager. If this is offensive to you, or if it is illegal in your area, or if you are under age, please leave now.
Constructive criticism is welcome on my e-mail.
Dermot Chapter 10, Making Progress?
During the days which followed the revelation of Dermot's rape, events seemed at times to move at a glacial pace, at other times like a race horse out of the starting gate. Dermot wanted all this to be over, while at the same time he was frightened about what would happen to him when it was over, and he had to leave the hospital. He seemed to be healing satisfactorily. His bruises and scrapes were virtually gone by the end of his second week in the hospital. His bones seemed to be knitting together satisfactorily, although he still had casts on his left leg, his right wrist, and around his chest where his ribs were broken. The place on his head, despite the jokes of Drs. Shipley and Rygalski, seemed to be healing rapidly, with the bandages off now. Likewise, the bandages remained off his right eye, so he could see better, and looked better as well. His left lung was monitored regularly, but no problems showed up. New tests certified that he was free of the STDs he had brought with him. Dr. Shipley several times mentioned the recuperative powers of the young, given a chance. In fact, on Friday, 6 March, Dermot was supplied with crutches, and was able to make his way around his room, and to the restroom, without assistance. He was very pleased with this, because he knew Nurse Hoffman would be back the next day. He asked Dr. Shipley to leave specific instructions that he could go to the bathroom on his own. On that same morning, Dr. Shipley told Dermot, "You could go home now, if you had someplace to go." That was the problem most on his mind during these days, and into the next week.
Once more, Dermot was taken to the office of Dr. Grissom, the psychologist. That visit was no more successful than the previous one, as Dermot stubbornly refused to cooperate with his assigned counselor. After some discussion among Dermot, Dr. Shipley, and Mr. Lyle, Dr. Jessica Lanier was called in. She was the psychologist who saw Lando back when he was struggling with his sexual identity, and who Lando highly recommended. Dermot was surprised when he first met her, not because she was female, which he already knew, but because of her swarthy complexion. Dr. Lanier explained that she was a member of the Eastern Band of the Cherokee Nation, originally from North Carolina. After their first visit together, Dermot decided he liked this counselor. She was direct and straightforward, with none of what he perceived as the pretense of Dr. Grissom. She told him right off that he had problems, but they would resolve them together. When he attempted to equivocate about his experiences as a hustler, she told him he was full of crap, and if he were not going to tell the truth, they might as well call it all off. Dermot greatly appreciated her honesty, and so decided he would be honest in return. After all, she evidently already knew the worst, namely, his rape by his cousin Zach and his career as a prostitute. Dr. Lanier first came to see Dermot on the same Friday when Dr. Shipley told him he could go home if he had someplace to go. Her visit helped him deal with that unpleasant reality, so they were off to a good start. She said she would see him once a week for now, and less often as he grew able to deal with his problems more successfully.
The Thursday before the first appearance of Dr. Lanier saw the visit of Mrs. Harper with an armload of books. She happened to come in the afternoon, while Lando was visiting, so he just backed away, but remained in the room, not expecting the social worker's visit to last very long.
Depositing her burden on the table by Dermot's bed, Mrs. Harper stated, "Here are the books for the classes you should be taking this year, Dermot. You know we really cannot neglect your education any longer. I wish you would look them over, and then we can talk about some kind of home schooling for now."
Dermot grabbed a green colored tome, then dropped it as though he had been bitten by a snake. "Oh, shit! Sorry, but the first one I picked up was a math book."
Both Mrs. Harper and Lando chuckled at that, and at the look of dismay on Dermot's face. Lando edged up to take a look.
"Hey, that's geometry, the same book I have. I told you geometry was kind of cool. A lot more fun than algebra."
"Getting beat up was a lot more fun than algebra," a disgruntled Dermot responded with more than a little exaggeration.
"Perhaps you could help Dermot, Lando," Mrs. Harper suggested.
"I'd be glad to, but math is not really one of my strong suits. Would it be okay if I asked my brother to help?"
"That would certainly be all right with me, if Dermot is willing to work with him, and your brother is willing for his part to put in some time," Mrs. Harper agreed.
As a result, on Saturday, Lando arrived with an older boy. The family resemblance left no doubt about their relationship, as their features were very similar, despite the fact that Mark had brown hair and eyes, and was several inches taller than his younger brother.
"Hey, Dermot. This is my brother," Lando said.
"Hi, I'm Mark Lyle. I'm glad to meet you, as Dad and my little brother have been talking about you for weeks." Mark extended his hand, shaking Dermot's still encasted right hand carefully.
"Hi. I'm Dermot. Thanks for coming."
"I understand from this reprobate," indicating Lando, "that you share his infantile aversion to math, so I came along to see whether I could maybe help out. Lando represents the literature and history side of our family, like Dad, but I'm the math and science guy. We're different in a lot of ways," Mark stated, causing Lando to blush slightly and poke his brother.
Lando objected strongly to the description of his attitude towards math as infantile. "Just because I prefer people to numbers does not mean I'm retarded or something," he insisted. Turning to Dermot, Lando continued, "My brother has a superiority complex. He seems to think that being born first automatically makes him better at everything than me."
"Of course. What haven't I beat you at, little brother?" Mark kidded.
Lando had to think for a couple of minutes, but then he exclaimed, "Crosswords! I can run rings around you in crosswords!"
"I concede crosswords," Mark stated magisterially, "but you will have to agree that there is very little practical use for crosswords, whereas math ...."
".... is practical and dull as dishwater," Lando completed.
Dermot was watching the interaction between the brothers carefully. At one time, he had hoped his cousin Zach would be a big brother to him, but their relationship had never been even cordial, much less close and joking, like that between Lando and Mark. He was aware of a twinge of envy as he observed them.
"Well, Dermot, do you think you can work with me, even if I'm not my brother," Mark asked.
"Yeah. I think I'd like to try, anyway. But I've got to warn you, I hate math. It was my worst subject last year."
"Okay, I'm warned. Lando, you disappear. You will undoubtedly be nothing but a distraction. We'll tackle the opening chapter in this geometry book, but you can come back in maybe thirty to forty-five minutes, okay?" Mark said, taking control of the situation.
Lando dutifully disappeared. When he returned, he found Mark carefully explaining what axioms and postulates were, and Dermot actually looking like he understood. From then on, Dermot worked each day at his school work, helped some of the time by Lando, and some of the time by Mark. In addition to geometry, Mark helped Dermot with the study of biology, lamenting that they had to work without a lab, or even the great outdoors. Lando was a great help, because Dermot still could not write, so Lando brought his laptop with him, and allowed Dermot to write out his answers to the questions he was given in English and history. He then edited Dermot's many typos and other problems of composition. Mrs. Harper was quite pleased with this arrangement, especially as Lando and Mark were putting in volunteer work, sparing the County the expense of a tutor.
Some movement was also taking place on the legal front. After the revelation that Dermot had been raped by his eighteen year old cousin with the knowledge and assistance of his uncle, warrants were issued for the arrest of Stephen Emmet Barry and Zachary Brian Barry. These warrants were duly served, with father and son hauled before a judge, a court appointed attorney assigned, a tentative court date set, and bond posted. Dermot would not have to appear until the actual trial. However, he was deposed, with a detailed statement of his abuse at the Barry home with emphasis on the rape and expulsion from the home. He answered questions from both Mr. Lyle and the attorney for his cousin, being as accurate and honest as he could, asking Mr. Lyle for guidance when he was unsure. He did not want anything to screw this up. The Barrys were also under court order to turn over to Mr. Lyle, acting as Dermot's attorney, all records related to the estate of the late James E. Barry, and all possessions of Dermot and his parents. This caused some difficulty, as the Barrys claimed nothing belonged to Dermot, but despite their obstruction, on Sunday Walt Lyle was able to present Dermot with an envelope containing his birth certificate, his parents' marriage certificate, his father's papers from his time in the army, some other documents, and some family photographs. Mr. Lyle stated that the Barrys said they had no knowledge of any plastic statue of St. Dermot, but he suspected that they had destroyed it or thrown it away. Despite this, Dermot was immensely grateful for what he was given. He was beginning to recover his identity, in a way, with these documents.
Sgt. Flaherty also was able to report some progress. He visited Dermot on the same Saturday as Mark Lyle's first visit. "We've got a real breakthrough, Dermot. As I expected, the guys who attacked you tried again. Yesterday evening, at the Cardinal tavern, our witness saw your friend Gary talking to a young punk."
"Now, Sergeant, that's no way to talk about teens, even if they are engaged in illicit activity," Dermot chivvied the policeman.
"No, this guy really was a punk. I mean, he had tattoos, his head shaven, various bits of hardware sticking in his face, the whole nine yards," Flaherty somewhat naively asserted.
"It still seems wrong, but go on. You arrested Gary, right?"
"Well, no. Unfortunately, our witness became excited when he saw Gary and the punk talking, and started yelling that the police wanted to talk to him. Naturally, Gary bolted."
"Gee, another false start," Dermot lamented. "What about the hustler?"
"The punk was really pissed about losing his hook up, and took it out on our witness, punching him a good one. He has a nice shiner this morning. Serves him right for being such a dunderhead," the policeman asserted.
"But we're no further along as far as actually identifying the guys who beat me up, are we?" Dermot said dejectedly.
"That not exactly true. There's more. The great news is, our witness was able to catch a glimpse of the vanity plate on that Cherokee. Guess what it said? Nothing to do with Chuck, but the plate said 'My God.' We ran a search on that with DMV and came up with Charles M. Wilhoit, age 31, resident of this city. And, here's further verification of your story: he is a junior member of the law firm of Jessup, Wilhoit, and Greene. The Wilhoit in the firm's name is his father, who is quite a power around the court house. We hauled in young Wilhoit, who is called Chuck, by the way, and questioned him, but he claims all he was doing was a completely legitimate drive down Third Street, not even stopping at the Cardinal, which he designated as a hang-out for queers - his word. I did note that he wears western style boots with steel toes. I wish we had an impression of the damage to your side, to compare with those toes. Of course, we have DNA samples of the semen found on you when you were brought in, but without more to go on, we can't compel him to give us a sample of his DNA. He sure knows all the limitations on police authority, I can tell you that. Look at these pictures, and tell me whether you can pick out any of your assailants," Sgt. Flaherty said hopefully.
Dermot looked over six photographs, but shook his head sadly. "No, I never got a good look at the guys in the front seat."
"That's a shame. But now we have a pretty good idea of where to look for more evidence. It may seem like this is taking forever, Dermot, but we are making progress. Don't give up on us."
"No way. Thanks, Sgt. Flaherty," Dermot responded.
"Any guy who makes his car into a god is bound to be up to no good," the sergeant mumbled as he left.
Dermot chuckled.
As far as Dermot was concerned, the real breakthrough came on the following Tuesday. Mrs. Harper was back, this time talking about a foster home.
"We have a definite possibility, Dermot, so don't give up hope. I think things may work out better than you expect once we have some details worked out."
"You mean once you find a foster family willing to accept damaged goods like me," the teenager groused.
"All out clients are damaged to some extent, Dermot. That's why they're in our care. But that does not mean no one is willing to help overcome some of that damage. In fact, we have someone specifically interested in you, if, as I said, we can work out some difficulties."
"Really? Who?" Dermot asked, surprised.
"Me," volunteered Mr. Lyle, who had just come into the room.
"Are you kidding me?" Dermot asked. "With all you know about me?"
"I would not kid you about something like this, Dermot." Walt Lyle said very seriously. "I know how badly you need and want a safe place to live while you get your life back together. I also know that you and Lando have become good friends, and Mark thinks you're pretty cool, too."
"He does?"
"He does. Although, I admit, he has to throw in a few words about your difficulty with math being a sign of something or another unpleasant. He says the same things about his brother, though, so I don't think that's going to be a problem."
"Gee, that would be great, Mr. Lyle. What are the details Mrs. Harper mentioned? I'll do anything you want," Dermot rashly promised.
"Don't make any sweeping promises until you give this serious thought, Dermot. Yes, we have a nice house, and yes, we've done this kind of thing before, and yes, we're willing to share our home with you, but we need to reach understanding about a few things first," the cautious lawyer stated.
"What? What kinds of things?" an anxious Dermot wanted to know. "You know Doc Shipley treated me for my STDs, so I'm not contagious or anything."
"No, it's not that. Let's deal with the easy matters first. I have a thirteen year old daughter. She constantly surprises me with what she does know, but I think it would be better not to discuss your rape or your hustling in her presence."
"Not a problem. I don't really like talking about that stuff anyway," Dermot assented.
"Then, not to put too fine a point on it, there is your language. It gets kind of vulgar at times, Dermot."
Dermot had to think about that. "I really am not conscious of that most of the time. I guess that comes from living with Uncle Steve, and then living on the streets. I can't promise I'll never slip up. It comes out without me thinking about it. All I can say is I'll make a conscious effort to clean up my act."
"So far, so good. If you had promised never to utter another vulgar word, I would not have believed you, Dermot," Walt said with a smile. "But this last matter is not going to be so easily dealt with. As of this point, the only remaining hesitation I have, Dermot, has to do with your comfort in our home. As I'm sure you know by now, we are a Catholic family. We attend Mass each Sunday, but our Catholicism is not confined to an hour on Sunday mornings. As you have good reason to know, we have our weekly holy hour as part of the Perpetual Eucharistic Adoration program at St. George. We pray before meals. There are crucifixes and other images in the house. You would be constantly reminded of our Catholicism. I know you have had some very unpleasant experiences with some aspects of our Church. I would not want you to be constantly uncomfortable as a result of that. Do you think, given your previous experiences, you can be happy in a Catholic home?"
That certainly caused Dermot to stop smiling. He had been thinking of sharing space with Lando, but had ignored this aspect of the Lyle family. He wanted this more than anything he had ever wanted since he gave up wanting his father back. But could he honestly answer yes to Mr. Lyle's query?
"I don't think I could go back to being Catholic," he cautiously said.
"That's not the issue. We would certainly not demand that you adopt our religion. History pretty much shows that the attempt to impose a religion on an unwilling person is bound to be unsuccessful, resulting in mere outward conformity at best, and rebellion at worst. I'm simply asking whether you would be comfortable with us practicing our religion in your presence. We can't pretend not to be Catholic, you know, any more than we can expect you to pretend to believe as we do."
Although he did not mention it, Walt noted that Dermot said he could not "go back" to being Catholic. That was an aspect of the matter he had not considered before this, although it made sense, Barry being an Irish name.
"Okay, you're laying it out for me, so I'll be honest. I'll have to think about it. At this point, I simply cannot make any promises," Dermot finally decided.
"Oh, Dermot ...." Mrs. Harper began.
"No, the boy is right," Walt insisted. "It has to be an honest answer, or the whole thing will not work. And, Dermot, if your answer is 'no,' that does not mean we'll give up on you, but Mrs. Harper will simply have to find a different foster family. It's done all the time. We have to find a good match. While you're making up your mind, my wife and daughter will stop by to see you in a day or so. They have their say as well in anything like this. I don't think you have anything to worry about on that score, though. Lando and Mark have both given you their seal of approval, and the advanced publicity from those sources will undoubtedly influence Mrs. Lyle and Emily."
That afternoon, Mark came by to give Dermot his next tutorial in geometry. He had a big grin across his face.
"I hear you may be coming to stay with us. I know Lando would like that. The little creep talks about you all the time. I think he's more than a little fond of you."
"Really?" Dermot deadpanned.
"Oh, come on. Surely you have to realize that you are more than a social project for Lando. Mind you, I'm no expert in guy on guy things. I don't pretend to understand your disgusting perversions," Mark teased, "but, like the old saying goes, 'chacun ... son go-t, dit la femme qui a embrasse la vache.'"
"What's that mean?"
Mark smiled. "It's about the only thing I remember from two years of high school French. It means: Each to his own taste, said the woman who kissed the cow."
"Yuck!"
"Not much different than one guy kissing another guy, in my opinion, but to put it another way, de gustibus non disputandum."
"You're showing off," Dermot objected.
"Yep. But I guess what I'm saying is, I wouldn't mind having you around, even if you are like Lando. Now, let's get busy with those geometry problems."
That evening, Lando came to visit. He was practically dancing he was so excited at the prospect of Dermot living with him. They spent a good hour talking about that, not sparing themselves the worry over the religion issue. Finding no ready answer, they concentrated on the literature Dermot was supposed to be covering as part of his home schooling. Mrs. Harper had provided him with some questions about the assigned works, which included ROMEO AND JULIET later in the curriculum. Now there were various poems to read and interpret. Dermot had to write out his analyses of these works, and Lando had his laptop as usual, and helped by editing Dermot's writing, making condescending remarks about his grammar and word choice, to which Dermot responded with, "I'll bet your vocabulary about life on the streets is pretty limited, too." Considering Dermot's age, and his experiences since last May, his command of the language was actually pretty good, which he attributed to spending time in the public library reading.
The last poem they read together was "Miniver Cheevy," a depressing work by Edgar Arlington Robinson. When they had finished the reading, Dermot sighed. "That's me," he said. "'Child of scorn, rued the day he was born.' I seem to do nothing but cause trouble for the people I like, and sure was scorned by those I didn't like."
"Don't get to down on yourself, Dermot. We'll work things out, somehow," the ever optimistic Lando asserted.
"I don't know, Lando. This is serious stuff."
"I know it's serious stuff, but that doesn't mean we can't handle it. We've just got to." the boy pontificated.
"Will you miss me if I can't go stay with your family?" Dermot fished for a compliment.
For an answer, Lando leaned over and kissed Dermot. Then they both stared at each other wide eyed.
After a moment of heavy breathing, Lando said, "I shouldn't have done that. Now my hormones are acting up, and I'll disgrace myself if I'm not careful."
"I'm all yours. If you don't think that nurse will interrupt us, I'll be more than willing to take care of that bulge I detect in your jeans," Dermot offered, hoping to nudge things up a few notches.
Lando blushed and looked uncomfortable. "I'd love it, but not yet."
"Why not?" Dermot demanded.
"You'll just get mad if I tell you."
"No. I promise. You've hinted at this before. If there's no boyfriend involved, what's the problem?"
"It's Lent," Lando said with a sigh.
"Lent! What the hell does Lent have to do with anything?"
"I knew you'd get upset. In our family, we abstain from sexual activity during Lent."
"What! That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of!"
"Maybe, but that's what we do. I don't know how it got started. I know a lot of kids at school don't do anything like this. But the Lyles do. My dad told me, when he found out I was becoming sexually active - just jerking off at that time - sex is the greatest physical pleasure God had given us, so it is an appropriate sacrifice to make to offer it to God for the six weeks of Lent. Unless a sacrifice involves something you really like, it's not real. Believe me, it's not easy, especially now that I know you."
Dermot looked in amazement at his friend. "I don't believe you. You're not real."
Lando looked like he had been struck in the solar plexus. "Just as real as you, Dermot. I think I'd better go for now. See you tomorrow."
Lando sorrowfully made his way out. Dermot continued to stare unbelievingly. Then, shaking his head, he said to himself, "We've got to work out this Catholic thing. We've got to!"