Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
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If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.
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I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or anything else. This is a work of pure fiction.
Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy flames, and will not tolerate them.
Back to the story in progress.
Jack
Josh and I played a few games of chess on the little magnetic chessboard that we traveled with before I remembered that we had a real board in one of the closets up here. When I finally found it we kicked off our shoes, set it on the bed between us, and climbed up for another couple of games while we waited for dinner. I switched on the radio on my desk, and found one of the local jazz stations, knowing that Josh would enjoy it. Josh was still convinced that someday he was going to teach me strategy, but I was just too much of a lateral thinker for it. I couldn't ever see more than a move or two in front of me. I made a move that left me completely open without realizing it, and looked up to see Josh grinning at me as we sat, legs folded, with the board between us.
"I just screwed up, didn't I?" I asked, looking at the board again and realizing what I'd done.
"Yeah, but that wasn't why I was smiling," Josh said. His eyes sparkled, flashing at me. "Check."
"Would you care to share?" I asked, feeling a surge of hope. He hadn't said "checkmate," so I might have a chance to prolong this a little more. I looked at the board carefully, studying the pieces. "Josh?"
He was still staring at me intently, and I blushed a little, looking down to see if there was something on my shirt as I ran a hand over my hair to see if any of it was sticking up.
"What?" I asked, meeting his eyes as I wondered self-consciously what he was looking at. "Are you trying to distract me? Because you know you don't have to if you want to win."
"No," Josh said, laughing. "I'm not trying to distract you. I was just remembering that this is the first thing we ever did together. You got on the bus, Chris went to bed, and we played chess."
"You're right," I said, smiling. "It was right after the bus lurched, and I fell against you, and felt you up for the first time. I remember standing there, with my hands on your chest, and looking into your eyes, and thinking about how beautiful they were."
"That's funny," Josh said, leaning toward me. "Because I remember thinking the same thing about you."
Josh and I were leaning closer and closer together, our lips almost touching, and then the mattress shifted under us, causing the chess pieces to fall over. We ignored them as our lips softly brushed against each other. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, breaking the kiss, Josh's were right there.
"I love you," he whispered, kissing me again. His lips were firm, and silken, soft like velvet as they brushed mine.
"I love you, too," I answered. I could smell him, the scent of his cologne, and could see up close how flawless his skin was, how perfect he was. Sometimes when I looked at Josh it took my breath away to see how beautiful he was, and to know he loved me. I glanced down at the chess pieces, scattered on the bed, some of them having rolled off of the board. "Looks like a tie."
"We could put the pieces back the way they were," Josh said, glancing down.
"I'd rather savor my half victory," I said, grinning. I started to pick the pieces up and put them in the box.
"I wouldn't call it a half victory," Josh said, helping me. "I'd say that we both won. And I don't just mean the chess game."
"I know," I said, kissing his cheek.
I glanced at the clock, counting down the seconds, knowing that every clock in the house was always set at exactly the same time. They always had been, and as I stood with the chess box in my hands, getting ready to put it back in the linen closet, I watched the second hand tick around toward the top of the face. Josh glanced at the clock, too, and jumped as the stereo started below us, exactly on time.
"It's electronic," I said. "The clock in the stereo is set to the exact same time as the rest. Come on. Let's go down to dinner."
Josh and I walked quietly down to dinner, hand in hand, finding my mother already seated at the table. The candles were lit, and the food was already on the plates, steaming and waiting. In my house, you didn't choose your own portions, and you didn't cover the table with serving dishes. Plates came from the kitchen with food already on them, dessert pre-served as well, and then the housekeeper, who was currently apparently named Carmelita, was dismissed, and went to her apartment above the garage. I had wondered several times if we might be slowly gassing our housekeepers to death with carbon monoxide poisoning by forcing them to live up there, but had never asked. I also wondered about the thing with the food and the plates. It wasn't a rule of polite society, because no one I knew did it. It was just some weird personality quirk of my mother's, and I realized that the way I tended to serve food, right out of the pan and onto the table, was probably yet another gesture of unconscious rebellion.
My mother was poised, posture perfect, shoulders back, watching me as I sat on one side of the table and Josh took the seat across from me. We carefully spread our napkins over our laps, and I picked up my fork, waiting. Josh, unsure of what was going on, watched me, and when I saw my mother lift her own fork to her mouth I began to cut up my chicken, and he followed suit. No one said anything, and my mother and I were focused on our plates. You never ate before the hostess did, and as long as I was here I could try to be accommodating in little ways, if nothing else. The music played on from speakers hidden in the walls, and the only other sounds were the noises of silver on china.
"Did you pick the music, Mrs. Springer?" Josh asked, breaking the silence.
"Yes," she answered, not looking up.
"I listen to Mozart sometimes, too," Josh said, smiling at her. I don't understand how she could see that face and not melt, but she was, after all, my mother. "Sometimes it helps me concentrate, or it inspires my own music."
"Oh, yes, I had forgotten," my mother said, smiling thinly right before she cut him. I'd seen this enough times to know it was coming. "Some people do classify what you do as music."
"That's it," I snapped loudly as Josh's face fell. Josh loved his music, and he worked hard on it, regardless of what other people thought. "I let it go this afternoon, because you were surprised and those people you call friends were around, but you're not talking to Josh that way, ok?"
"Goodness, Jackson," my mother said, pretending to be offended. "Such a sharp tone to take with your own mother. And so rude."
"You'd be the one to ask about rudeness, wouldn't you?" I snapped again. "However you feel about my relationship, Josh is a guest in your house. I'd think those manners you're always talking about would extend to him."
"I'm not certain I'm going to stay if you're going to continue to take that tone with me," she began, rising.
"Sit down!" I snapped, anger bubbling up in me. I really didn't care as much if she hurt me again. I'd been kicked so many times in this house that I had developed quite a callus, but I would not have Josh mistreated. She paused, I think for the first time actually surprised by my tone. "We flew out here because I need to ask you one question, and I'll follow you through every room in this house until you answer it, so you might as well sit back down."
Josh blinked at me, trying to settle me down with his face, but I wasn't sitting through another farce of a family dinner in this dining room. My mother sank slowly back into her seat, folding her hands in front of her on the table.
"Given the option of being hounded through my own home like some sort of criminal, I suppose I'll stay to hear whatever it is that you have to say," she sighed, as if we were supposed to have pity for her, the long suffering mother figure. Bullshit.
"Suppose whatever you want. You will anyway," I said, lowering my tone a little, even though I wanted to scream at her. "Why aren't you coming to my wedding?"
She sighed again, and Josh's wide blue eyes ticked back and forth between the two of us. I could see that he wanted to be here for me, but he couldn't reach my hand across the table. I could still feel him, though, inside where it mattered.
"I thought that it was clear that we would be unable to attend, and thought that the gift I sent was more than adequate," she began, and I cut her off. My heart was hammering as I felt myself becoming more and more angry.
"I didn't ask for a gift," I said harshly. "I asked for you. Why aren't you coming to my wedding?"
"Jackson, I don't think," she began, staring at her folded hands again.
"Just answer the question!" I snapped, feeling a little tense suddenly. "Why? Why, God damn it?"
"Because I will not lower myself to participate in such a farce," she said coldly. Josh gasped, and I felt something twist inside of me, even though I had known this would be the answer. "Can you imagine what people would think? It's not even legal, Jackson, and I will not add my approval to such a charade. I will not pretend there is something natural about this, this thing that you choose to do. I have been more than generous in my acceptance of this lifestyle that you've chosen, but you cannot expect me to choose it as well."
"You've been accepting?" I demanded. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, and I felt sweat breaking out on my forehead. "Accepting? I'm not asking you to live my life! I'm not asking you to joyfully hug Josh and welcome him into the family! All I want is to see you in those seats! Just once I want to turn around and see my family there! I'm not asking you to participate in anything. Just once, once, I want you to be my mother."
I realized that my eyes were watering, and I cursed myself for feeling so weak suddenly. The air in the room felt very thick.
"I'm sorry that it seems to have hurt you to hear any of that, but I wouldn't have said it if you hadn't demanded it," she sighed. Oh yes, of course, this was all my own fault. "There are limits to my acceptance, and to my tolerance of your eccentricities. I will not give this my acceptance, not even the tacit acceptance my presence would imply. Now, if you will excuse me, this discussion has caused me to lose my appetite."
She stood quickly and walked out of the room without another word, and Josh watched her, his mouth hanging open. I wanted to say something to break the moment, drop a little "Welcome to the family" joke or something, but I couldn't breathe. My heart was pounding in my chest, throwing itself against my ribs, and I felt dizzy, suddenly.
"Jack?" Josh asked, his voice distant, seeming to roll in from somewhere else, a loud sound on the television in the living room upstairs. Wait, we were on the first floor, not in the basement.
I reached for my water, my mouth dry. The room seemed to be going darker around the edges, soft focus, and I brought the glass to my lips. It wasn't water, though. The taste of peanut butter, peanut butter sandwiches, flooded my mouth, and I dropped my glass. Choking, I lunged to my feet, the room spinning. Peanut butter sandwiches. The food, the food was drugged. I shoved my plate away, hearing it clatter on the tabletop. I had to get out of here, had to get away. I couldn't breathe, but somehow I found the strength to bolt from the dining room as I heard someone behind me. It was him, Basil, calling my name. He was after me, and I had to get away. I raced up the stairs, the walls spinning, closing in. Why didn't we have more lights on? Why was the hallway so dark? How could I be running down a hallway when I knew I was running up the stairs?
I pushed open the door to my room, feeling dizzy, lightheaded, trying to get away as I heard feet thudding up the stairs behind me. He was coming. I blinked and the familiar shape of my room vanished, replaced with the stark white walls of the basement and the mattress on the floor again. I blinked, and saw my room. Blink. The basement. My heart fluttered, and black spots danced across my field of vision. The walls seemed to close in, to press themselves around me, and I sank to my knees, my hand sliding down the doorframe as I struggled to stay up. I had to get away, had to get out of here, but I was too dizzy, too weak. I fought to breathe, my lungs screaming, and I felt arms wrap around me from behind. I struggled, but they held me tightly, bearing me down to the floor, pressing me against a firm chest. My head lolled back on my neck, landing on someone else's shoulder, and I wondered if I might be dying.
"Jack, Jack, it's Josh," I heard. It wasn't. Josh wasn't coming.
"No," I said, trying to see, struggling to break his grip. He had me. My ceiling with its brass and glass lights was replaced by the white ceiling with its hanging bulb. Blink. My ceiling. Blink. Basement ceiling. "No."
"Jack, it's Josh," I heard again, and part of my brain marveled that Basil even sounded like Josh somehow. His arms held me, and I was too weak to move them, drugged, dizzy, my heart fluttering. "Jack, you're safe. I'm here, and you're safe."
"Josh?" I asked. The room seemed so small, the walls pressing in, the ceiling rushing down toward me. "I can't, I, I can't breathe."
Blackness rolled over me.
When I came to, I was being rocked, cradled against Josh as his fingers fluttered over my forehead, gently brushing my hair back. He was stroking the side of my face over and over with one hand, holding me against him with the other, as he whispered over and over that I was safe, and that he loved me. I opened my eyes, and saw that we were still on the floor, Josh with his legs thrown out, and me turned sideways as I sat on his lap and he held me against his chest. He kissed me on the forehead as my eyes fluttered open, and I looked up to see him staring down with concern.
"Josh?" I asked, my voice cracking. I burst into tears, and he held me against him. I hated the panic attacks. They left me feeling so embarrassed, and fragile, and there was nothing I could do to stop them, no way to fight them. They came so fast. "Josh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Shhhhh," he whispered, kissing my forehead again as I buried my face in his chest. "No sorry, Jack. Nothing to be sorry for. You're safe now."
Josh continued to hold me, still rocking back and forth, whispering to me over and over that he loved me, and that I was safe. I slumped against him, feeling drained, as my tears finally stopped. He was trying really hard to be strong for me, to pretend he wasn't upset, but I could feel his heart thudding against my cheek. I had scared him, even if he wasn't showing it. As he held me, caressing my face soothingly, I thought again of how lucky I was to have him, and to have him take care of me. As I clung to him, feeling his warmth against me, his arm hooked under my leg and he stood, carrying me to the bed. He set me down on top of the covers, laying me on my side, and kissed my cheek.
"Stay here and rest," he whispered. "I'm gonna go get you a drink, ok? I'll come right back, I promise."
I nodded, hoping he remembered where the kitchen was. Then again, the house wasn't that big, and he'd be able to find it. I again cursed the panic attacks, wishing I was over them. At least my mother had already left the room, and hadn't seen it, even though part of me thought the damn thing was probably triggered by her to begin with. I couldn't believe she could be so cold. I mean, I should have been used to it, but she was just so frosty and self absorbed. And she was in the house somewhere with Josh, who she didn't like, and he was all by himself. It might have been lingering vestiges of the panic attack, and all of the feelings of urgency and danger that had come with it, but I was worried about Josh suddenly, and I climbed out of bed on shaky legs to go find him.
I heard him shut off the water in the kitchen, and assumed he was running me a glass, and then suddenly I heard my mother.
"Joshua?" she asked, her voice lacking the icy imperiousness. I paused on the stairs, listening. "Joshua, may I ask you something?"
"Yes, Mrs. Springer?" Josh asked carefully. I could tell that he didn't want to talk to her, but, being Josh, he was unfailingly polite.
"Please, call me Evelyn," she said, and I wondered what she was doing. She sounded odd. I'd never heard her use such a tone before, with anyone.
"If you'll call me Josh," he said. I sat on the stairs, waiting.
"What happened?" she asked. "What happened to him just now?"
"He had a panic attack," Josh answered. "It's, um, it's part of what happened to him."
"I thought he was recovered," my mother said. "I thought he was released from the hospital because he was recovered."
"If you'd come to the hospital you might have known that's not quite accurate," Josh said sharply. Oooooh, Josh really was pissed. "We got your flowers, though, so I guess that's almost the same as visiting your son."
There was a moment of silence, and I waited, surprised by the vehemence of Josh's words. I knew that he was just as protective of me as I was of him, but he must have been really mad to talk to my mother that way.
"I don't feel as if I have to explain any of my behavior to you," she said, her voice assuming the familiar icicle scrape.
"Maybe you should explain it to Jack, then," Josh said, still a little harsh.
"What do you mean when you say he's not recovered?" she asked quietly, ignoring his suggestion.
"He may not be recovered for years," Josh said, sounding sad now. "He may not be recovered ever. He has nightmares most nights. He wakes up screaming, or in a cold sweat. He has panic attacks, which you saw. We're lucky, because he doesn't have any permanent heart damage, but he still has all the scars inside his head."
"I didn't realize," she began.
"I know," Josh said. "I know you didn't realize, but you asked, and I'm trying to tell you. Jack is better, but he's not ok, and maybe he never will be completely."
"He doesn't seem like there's anything wrong," she said quietly. I moved closer, sitting at the bottom of the stairs. "He still seems like his usual self."
"He's not, though," Josh said, and I heard chairs scraping. My boyfriend and my mother were sitting down at the kitchen table, having a heart to heart. What the hell? "He's not his usual self, and sometimes there isn't anything I can do to help him. All I can do is hold onto him, and tell him it'll be ok, and that he's safe. He's locked inside himself, and what happened to him, and I can't be there. All I can do is try to bring him back out again, and I just feel so helpless."
I wanted to run down the stairs and wrap myself around Josh. I couldn't believe he felt like he wasn't doing anything to help me. Just being there, just being Josh helped me, apparently more than he knew.
"You really love him, don't you?" my mother asked softly. How come she could talk to Josh like this, but not to me? "It's not just sex between you two. You love him."
"Yeah, I do," Josh answered. "That's why I can't understand why you don't."
My mother chuckled softly.
"You think I don't love Jack?" she asked. I could see them in my head, her sitting with her hands folded on the tabletop, Josh with my water forgotten next to him, watching her, and nodding now. "Did he tell you that?"
"No," Josh answered truthfully. "He told me that you did, and just didn't show it. I just don't see how you can say you love him, and treat him like this."
"You think I'm a horrible mother, don't you?" she asked. Her voice wasn't icy, but wasn't looking for pity, either. I thought I might actually be hearing my mother be honest, and wondered if I ever had before.
"Yes, I do," Josh said simply. "I'm sorry if it hurts you to hear that, but I can't understand the kind of mother you are. I can't understand how you could be kinder to a stranger on the street than you could to your own child. Jack is the most amazing, wonderful person I've ever known. There's so much inside him, so much feeling, so much heart, and I feel bad for you, because you don't see it. You're missing out on it, and you don't even realize it. I don't think you could see it, even if you wanted to. I can't understand how you can look at him, and not see what I see."
"Jack has always been something of a mystery to me," she said quietly. "I've never been able to see him, not like I can see his brother. His brother has always been an open book, a window. I could see right through him, always see where he was going, what he was thinking. Jack was never like that. He was always closed off. There was always something inside of him that I couldn't get to, and he never shared it with anyone."
Silence filled the house.
"Jack was a loner, and he probably still is," my mother continued as Josh and I both listened, he in the kitchen with her and me still hidden on the stairs. "He never had many friends, and if you think about it now, I'm sure he still doesn't. It never seemed to matter to him, though. That's what set Jack apart from every other child I know. He always thought his own way, made his own choices, and never seemed to care what people thought. The other kids were outside playing, and Jack would sit outside with a book, or play by himself in a sandbox. Is he still like that?"
"Yeah, kind of," Josh answered, and I could hear the smile. "But I'm like that, too. And even if Jack doesn't have a lot of friends, he cares a lot about the ones he does have."
"I don't doubt it," she said. "His teachers always thought it was a problem, though. He was always getting those marks on his report card, that he didn't get along with the other children. Looking at it now, I think he probably just didn't like them, and decided not to associate with them. It was just one of the things, though, that made him such an odd child. He was so hard to relate to. Sometimes it was like having this complete stranger in the house, and the way he looked at you always made you feel like he was judging you, because you couldn't tell what he wanted, or why."
I had never heard my mother talk about me like this before, and wondered if she had ever been this honest with someone else about me. How long had she thought this? My whole life?
"He's telling you what he wants now, though," Josh said. "He wants you to come to his wedding. He wants you to be his family."
"And then what?" she asked. "We'll have this family time, and then what? Start talking to each other? Spend the holidays together? Your family and us, all sitting together under a tree? Is that what you're thinking, Josh?"
"Would that really be so horrible?" Josh asked.
"I never said it would be, but that's not the kind of family we are," my mother said, and I could almost see her shaking her head. "We never have been. Jack's brother and I, yes, but Jack? No. We've never been that way."
"Why?" Josh asked, starting to sound a little upset again. "Why aren't you that way? What's wrong with you?"
"There isn't anything wrong with me," she said defensively. "Just because I'm not the kind of mother you think I should be doesn't give you the right to judge me."
"But I don't see how you can even call yourself a mother," Josh said, even more impassioned. No one had raked my mother across the coals like this ever, as far as I knew. "You treat Jack like a burden."
Again there was a moment of silence.
"I never wanted children, Josh," my mother said quietly. "I never wanted them, but Mr. Springer needed a son. We got Brett, and then Mr. Springer was worried about Brett being an only child, so there's Jack. He needed an heir, someone to carry on the family, and he needed a child because everyone else has a child. It's what you do here. You get married, and you raise children. I wanted the life, was raised for it, but I never wanted the children, and I never really knew what to do with them."
"And in all this time you haven't learned?" Josh asked. "You've had thirty years, first with Brett, and then with Jack."
"I know," she said. "I know I have, and I've done it with Jack's brother. I haven't ever been able to do it with Jack, though. I haven't ever been able to feel that bond with him. He's so aloof, so detached from all of this."
"You're wrong," Josh said, and I could tell he was shaking his head. "You don't know Jack at all, and you prove it when you say that. He isn't detached from any of this. Coming here has been so hard for him, so upsetting, even if he hasn't shown me. Just being here he's in pain."
"And yet he came anyway," she marveled. "He came because of you, Josh."
"No," Josh said. "He came because of you. He came because he wants you to sit in the front row of chairs. He wants you to be his mother, to be there for him, to show everyone else that you're proud of your son. That's all he wants you to do."
"I can't," my mother said. All of that, and she still wasn't moved. The woman really was made of ice. "I can't do that."
"Why?" Josh asked, not letting her off.
"I've told you, I cannot approve of this wedding," she said. "I cannot pretend that what the two of you are doing is acceptable. Even if you love each other, this is unnatural. It's wrong. I'm sorry, because you're such a nice person, Josh. You seem intelligent, and you're very handsome, and I can see what a loving and caring person you are, and I feel so bad for you, because you're so flawed and confused."
"That's what you really think?" Josh asked. "Do you think that about Jack, too?"
"That he's flawed and confused?" my mother asked, clarifying. Josh must have nodded. "Yes, that's what I think about Jack, too."
"How can you think that about him?" Josh asked. "How can you think there's anything wrong with your own son?"
"Because there so obviously is," she sighed. "The two of you may love each other, but it's wrong. What you're doing is wrong."
I knew Josh wouldn't take this well. Josh was so close to Karen and Roy, and they were so accepting of him, and of me. Once they had realized that he and I really did care about each other, and that I wasn't just some opportunist, they had accepted me with open arms. They had never made Josh feel like he was doing something wrong, or that there was anything unnatural about the way he was. Instead they had just opened their arms, and their hearts, and Josh just couldn't seem to conceive of a mother who couldn't do that. I had tried to warn him, but again, he hadn't believed me.
"A mother is supposed to love her children unconditionally," Josh said.
"I do love them," she said. "I just can't accept what he is. It's good that the two of you love each other, because I will never be able to understand or approve of your relationship, and I won't let him flaunt it here in my face."
"How is it flaunting to be happy?" Josh asked. "How is it flaunting just to live your life, and be the way you are? This is who Jack is."
"But it's not who I want him to be," my mother said coldly.
I heard Josh's chair scrape on the floor as he stood, and I realized that he was giving up, finally. I had to love him for trying, though.
"I can't believe Jack is your child," Josh said. "I can't believe that the man I love, the most beautiful, caring, special man in the world, came from this house. I don't understand how you can look at the child who grew up here, the child you gave birth to, and not treat him the way he deserves."
"Josh, I never gave birth to Jack," my mother said quietly. I blinked, unsure of whether I'd heard her correctly, and began walking to the kitchen.
"What?" Josh asked, confused.
"I told you, I didn't want children," my mother said, probably staring down at her hands. "Jack and his brother aren't even brothers, not by blood, and neither of them are mine. My children are adopted."
Both of their heads snapped around to stare at me as I gasped loudly from the doorway.
To be continued.