This story concerns teenage gay males who may be involved in sexual situations. If it is illegal for you to read such stories, or if you do not like to read such stories, please leave now.
This story is copyright 2006 by the author who retains all rights.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This is my first submission to Nifty. Any comments or questions are welcome at: carl_holiday@att.net
Kiel's Story
by Carl Holiday
Chapter 1 -- Getting to Know You
Kiel's family moved into the Carlson house almost exactly two months after my best friend died in the fiery crash that also killed all of his family. I read about the accident in the morning paper while eating my usual breakfast of unsweetened wheat puffs floating in homogenized milk. (I liked going to the Milk Barn with my dad because he always asked for two homos and the clerked never flinched I was practically busting a gut from laughing inside, but only had a silly smile I hoped my dad would never figure out.) The gasoline truck had been speeding, ran the red light, jackknifed, then rolled onto its side splitting open and splashing its deadly cargo into the Carlson's Buick parked in front of the National Bank of North Park. Mr. and Mrs. Carlson, Stevie, Melinda, and little Amy were engulfed in flames before anyone had a chance to react. I wanted to think they died quickly, but knew they suffered horribly as fire consumed their bodies.
I hated Kiel the moment I saw him carrying a birdcage up the Carlson's sidewalk. Mr. Carlson was allergic to birds, especially obnoxious chirpy canaries like the ones in Kiel's cage. He looked younger than me. Black hair cut so close his white scalp practically made him look bald. Black eyebrows looked like disgusting caterpillars crawling across his milky forehead. The ears were comically hideous in their insignificance. Nose small, normal, almost perky. Lips thin, moist, stretched out into an unnatural smile showing shiny metal covered teeth. Lanky body with too large hands and feet covered with black high-tops. Blue jeans tapered so much his tiny ass looking strangely appealing. A long-sleeved white dress shirt too big for his body. He definitely wasn't Stevie Carlson and I swore I'd never speak to him for moving into my dead best friend's house.
When his big breasted, older sister came out of their rusty '59 Chevrolet station wagon, I ran up to my bedroom to see if the birds ended up in Stevie's bedroom. It was directly across the adjoining driveways from my room. I didn't want the boy in that room, but I sort of did, too. I definitely didn't want his sister in there. I waited for nearly an hour before the light came on and a woman who must have been his mother looked around. The light went out, I heard their car start, and they left.
Three days later I was out in our backyard shooting hoops when I became aware of a shadow on the driveway. It was long and didn't move once coming to a stop. I took a rebound and turned. Up close he was maybe an inch shorter than me, maybe the same height because he slouched. A nervous smile made his lips quiver slightly.
"Hi, my name's Kiel," he said. He was wearing the same black high-tops. They were Converses, but they looked too big for his feet and they were too new, too clean. All of his clothes looked too clean. What kind of kid wears a white shirt out to play in?
"Geoff," I said, quickly tossing the ball to him, purposefully intending to knock him down. Not only did Kiel look like he instinctively brought his hands up to catch the ball, he dribbled in and made the most perfect layup I've ever seen.
The ball was sailing back to me before I knew it and I flubbed the catch. My right thumb took the brunt of the impact. The pain was instant and distinct, bringing tears to my eyes.
"Hey, sorry," Kiel said, running over to me as I turned away so he couldn't see me crying.
"Damn, damn, damn," was all I could say as the pain climbed up my arm.
"Come on, you need to ice that," Kiel said, pulling my other arm, practically dragging me to my back door.
"What's wrong, honey," my mother said as Kiel pulled me through the door. She was ironing my sheets. She ironed everything, including my underwear.
"He jammed his thumb when I tossed him the basketball," Kiel said. "I'm Kiel Elkins from next door. I think he needs some ice on that."
"Put your thumb under the tap," my mother said, turning on the cold water in the laundry basin. "Kiel? Would you like some chocolate chip cookies? They're fresh."
"Okay," Kiel said, following my mother into the kitchen, leaving me in the laundry room.
I couldn't quite hear what they were saying probably because of the running water. My thumb hurt, but the cold water was starting to numb it a bit. I couldn't believe Kiel caught me off guard with that pass. He was definitely better at basketball than I was, but that wasn't any reason for me to like him. After all, Stevie Carlson was better at basketball than I was. Heck, nearly everybody in the world was better at basketball than I was. It seemed the more I practiced, the worse I got.
"Cookie?" Kiel said, holding one up to my lips. He was smiling, the steel in his mouth sparkling. He was so close I could smell the tartly sweet scent of his perspiration.
"I can feed myself," I said reaching up with my good hand to get the cookie away from my mouth. He let go an instant before I could grab it.
"Uh, huh, sure you can. You don't play football do you? I'd hate to throw you a pass."
I looked down at the cookie on the floor. Then watched him squat down to get it and come back up. He practically pushed it into my mouth. His movements seemed to flow like water. It was as if he'd rehearsed this very thing and was playing out all the movements to an invisible audience. I wasn't certain I liked him. I wasn't certain I hated him as much as I thought I was going to, but I wasn't certain I could like him. He seemed too sure of himself. He definitely wasn't as uncoordinated as I was. That was not a plus in his favor.
"I called Doctor Connor, he'll meet us at his office," my mother said, walking into the laundry room. "Here put your thumb in this bag of ice. Kiel can you watch Sally while we're gone? She's up in her bedroom playing."
"Sure, I'd be glad to."
"You're going to leave Sally with a stranger?" I asked as Mother pulled my good arm. The screen door slapped shut when I couldn't catch it with my bad hand.
"Kiel's not a stranger. I know his mother from work."
"You know those people next door?"
"Of course, silly. How do you think they found out about the house?"
"But, you didn't say anything to me."
"Why should I?"
"But, Stevie was my best friend."
"I know, honey, but it's time to move on. That's what Doctor Morgan told you. Don't you remember him telling you that?"
"Yes." Of course I remembered everything I was told by the fat psychologist with a bald head my parents hired to get me through the grief over Stevie's death. Only, I don't think he got me far enough because I was still crying myself to sleep most nights. I wasn't as loud as I was in the beginning, but I was still doing it. And, I found out where my dad hid the key to his gun locker. I figured the .38 caliber revolver would do the trick when the time came. I'd already secreted a couple bullets out and had them hidden in the bottom drawer of my dresser.
Kiel was reading a story to Sally when we returned. My hand was wrapped up, but nothing was broken. I could have told my mother that, but early in life I learned never to tell my mother anything when she was on a mission of mercy.
"Mommy? Can Kiel come over and read to me again?" Sally asked when she noticed us walk into the family room. For a mistake, my five year old sister was about as obnoxious as a chirpy canary. I was supposed to be the last mistake coming along four years after my sister, but somebody didn't learn their lesson and nearly ten years later Sally showed up. Now, my brother Karl was in Southeast Asia helping the keep the Commies from knocking down all of the dominoes all the way to Australia and my sister Trudy was down in Oregon, a freshman at Springfield Poly.
"Were you a nice little girl?"
"She was a snap to watch Mrs. Johnson, no problem at all," Kiel said, closing the book and handing it to Sally. He came up out of the sofa into a standing position seemingly by simply straightening his legs. I'd never seen anyone do that before. He was so skinny, I couldn't see how he had enough muscles to do anything.
"Here, take this," my mother said, holding out a five dollar bill.
"No, that's all right, she wasn't any trouble and you needed me to be here," Kiel said, walking toward the door. "My mother wouldn't want me to take money in such a circumstance. I'll see you around, Geoff. Sorry about the thumb."
"Yeah, sure," I mumbled watching the front door close.
"What a strange boy," my mother said. "You were paying attention? Right?"
"Yeah, I suppose, to what?"
"The way he wouldn't take my money, silly."
"Yeah, I suppose. Was that good?"
"Yes! That's what you're supposed to do. You don't take money when people need you in an emergency."
"I would."
"You'd better not."
"Why?"
"Because it isn't nice. Don't you pay attention to anything Pastor Fischer says? I think you'd better go up to your room and read your Bible."
"Okay," I mumbled walking toward the stairs. We're not as religious as mother makes us out to be, but you never know when she'll turn something into a Christian lesson. Here I am suffering from a jammed thumb and in trouble for thinking Kiel should have taken the five dollars. Heck, I take any money that comes along. If it's offered, I take it. Why worry about trying to be a good Christian?
Kiel was in his bedroom when I walked into mine. He waved. I waved back. He shut his curtains. I sat down on my bed and heard the phone ring.
"It's for you Geoff," my mother called out. "It's Kiel."
I almost ran out of my room, then wondered why. I still wasn't too certain I liked him. He was obviously nice, but he seemed too sure of himself. Heck, I could trip over my two left feet on smooth carpet. Maybe I'd be better if I had expensive shoes, too, but I didn't, so I wasn't. So I slowed to a walk.
"Hurry up, silly."
"I'm coming," I said looking out while I came down the stairs. I always worried about stumbling on the stairs. I'd always heard people died if they fell down stairs. At least they all died in the movies.
"Yeah?" I said after taking the phone from my mother.
"Hey, Geoff, are you well enough to go down to drug store with me?"
"Yeah, I suppose."
"My Dad needs me to pick up his prescription and Mom isn't back from my Aunt Leona's."
"I'll be over with my bike."
"Uh, I don't have a bike. I never learned how to ride one."
"You don't know how to ride a bike?"
"No."
"I guess we'll have to walk."
"That's what I do best."
"I'll be over in a sec'."
Well, I'll be, Mr. So-Sure-Of-Himself doesn't know how to ride a bicycle. Everybody knows how to ride a bike. Heck, even Sally knows how to ride a bike. Maybe Mr. Perfect isn't so perfect after all.
It was nearly a mile and half down to Oak Park Drugs and down is the key word. It was all downhill and uphill the way back. Going you could walk straight down One Hundred Thirteenth for six blocks which were so steep it seemed to be nearly vertical. Definitely not for the faint of heart on a bicycle, especially the stop sign at Oak Park Boulevard at the bottom. Four lanes of constantly busy traffic were a certain test of brakes. Coming back, I usually went down to One Hundred Second because the slope was easier. It added another half mile to the trip, but you weren't so tired at the end. No use getting bushed just for an errand.
Kiel was waiting for me out front, but I went out our back door anyway. The front door was for company and I never used it. He had that quivering shy smile I'd seen earlier.
"Hi."
"Hi."
"We have to go to Greenwood Drugs because Dad hasn't moved his prescriptions to Oak Park, yet."
"Okay," I said, mentally picturing the two or three mile walk ahead of us, not counting the trip back.
"I hope you don't mind, with your sore hand and all."
"No, I don't walk on my hands."
"I can."
"But, you can't ride a bike. Why didn't your dad teach you?"
"You've never met my dad."
"No, I've never seen him. I saw you, your sister, and your mother the day you brought out your birds, but I didn't see your dad."
"He's in a wheelchair. He's paralyzed. A car hit him when he was riding a bike. He was ten."
"I'm sorry."
"That's all right. You'll like him. He saw you shooting hoops this morning and sent me over to give you a few pointers."
"I'm not that bad."
"Do you play any other sports?"
"I golf."
"That's a sport?"
"It's on TV."
"Demolition derby is on TV, too, and that's not a sport."
"It's on Wide World of Sports. I watched it last Saturday."
"Oh, yeah, I did, too. My dad likes watching that."
"Your dad sounds cool for a, uh ^Å"
"Crip?"
"I wasn't going to say that."
"Yeah, you were. Everybody says that."
"I'm sorry."
"Hey, no problem, like I said, everybody says that."
"I don't want you to think I'm like everybody."
"Tell me about Stevie Carlson."
"He was my best friend, he's dead."
"I know."
"You know?"
"Yeah, my mom told me you two were close."
"Stevie was special," and I told Kiel everything I remembered about Stevie. Well, almost everything. I left out he was a great kisser and we'd been all the way a couple times. I figured Kiel didn't need to know I might be gay, not right now anyway. He definitely didn't need to know Stevie liked doing it with guys. No use ruining a dead friend's reputation when he can't defend himself.