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
A warm thank you goes out to all who've written. I appreciate knowing someone is actually reading this stuff.
Kiel's Story
by Carl Holiday
Chapter 4 -- When in Doubt, Die
He was a child of the Great Depression used to doing without and getting by with very little. He was the oldest of three boys, working through high school and after. He went with the Marines to fight across islands in the Pacific during WWII and returned to marry his high school sweetheart. He hated homosexuals and anything that reminded him of their existence, including his youngest, more successful brother, and his youngest son.
Up until a few months before Stevie died, he was probably the man I respected most. He was my hero. The only man who I could go to for anything. And, he was extraordinarily interested in everything I did.
Then one day he practically vanished from my life. He was there, around the house as he'd always been, but it was almost as if I ceased to exist. We stopped talking. He stopped answering my questions.
Then Stevie died and my Dad came back into my life for a time. We weren't as close as before. There seemed to be some gulf between us. It was as if we stood on opposite sides of a closed door. I knocked, but he answered grudgingly. Then he was gone, again.
Dad was good with people, a natural salesman. He sold cast iron pipe throughout the western states. He was on the road a lot, but that was the life he chose and the life we, his family, accepted.
My first clear memory of what would become my greatest fear of my father was a Saturday morning when I was five. Every Saturday morning Dad was in town, he'd take my older brother, Karl, and me to breakfast at Gussie's. We didn't get to go a lot, but often enough for it to become a family tradition.
It was raining that morning, a hard, uncommon rain that set the tone for the day. Dad was feeling good because he'd sold his biggest order the previous week and was in the mood for a celebration. Except, that was the first time we saw Neil working at Gussie's. Dad and Gussie knew each other from the war and Neil was presented at our table as someone special to Gussie.
On the way home, Dad started talking, but didn't seem to be talking to either Karl or me, "Gussie said that kid was kicked out of the Navy. I can't believe he hired the kid. How can he have someone so disgusting serving his customers?"
"What's wrong with him?" Karl must have asked.
"Both of you boys are too young to appreciate this," Dad said. "But, when I was younger, just before starting high school, a group of boys in our neighborhood started doing things together. From that day, I swore I would never have anything to do with boys or men who did things like that."
On subsequent visits, Karl and I were to find out about those horrible things, those things Dad hated so much. Other than shaking hands, men do not touch each other. Men do not kiss. Men do not ogle each other. Men do not, do not, do not, do not, on and on and on.
Why? Why was Dad so adamantly against anything that might be construed to be homosexual? Neither Karl nor I ever found out. I've always suspected Dad wasn't included for some reason in the games of his childhood. Karl always thought Dad had been embarrassed when the other boys said something derogatory about Dad's little dick. Whatever the reason, both Karl and I knew Dad hated homosexuals to where both of us became rather active on the other side of the fence, if only to rebel against his authority. Karl got out without Dad finding out about his switch-hitting. Myself, well, I thought I was being just as careful.
My time in Dad's headlights came two days before we were to leave for California. Dad came home from a rather disappointing sales trip to Arizona and was bitching to everyone, including me even though we weren't talking. I was up in my room sorting out what I was going to take when I hear Mother scream. Dad was on the kitchen floor and was definitely knocking on Death's door.
He made it to the hospital and after a day of flirting with Death, Dad was sent up to a room. Mother took me to the hospital because she said Dad wanted to talk to me. I was like some dumb animal being led to the slaughterhouse. Mother sent me in alone, simply saying, "Don't tire your father, he needs all the rest he can get."
Frankly, Dad looked like he was in for a long, long rest somewhere under a big lawn full of stone monuments. He stared at me; and, then I felt the headlights burn into my eye sockets. I was trapped.
"Geoff? I think it's time I let you know why I haven't been speaking to you," Dad said. He was lying in the hospital bed propped up with an IV in one arm and a clear plastic tube snaking out from under the blanket down to a bag full of yellow liquid hanging from the bed rail.
I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything.
"You know how I feel about homosexuals," Dad said. He wasn't looking at me, and I was doing everything I could not to look at him, but the headlights kept me staring straight ahead at the approaching car. "A few months ago I saw you kissing Stevie Carlson. When he died, I figured the problem took care of itself. Then five days ago, I came through town on my way to Phoenix and thought I'd stop at home and maybe take you out for a chocolate soda. I know you like them. I stopped out front because I was in a hurry, then walked up the driveway. Kiel was leaning ov er you and you two were kissing. I stepped back because I didn't want to be discovered. Maybe I should have said something, but when I looked again, you had gone inside. You left your bedroom window open and I heard everything."
The hunter aimed at a spot between my eyes. I couldn't move. I saw the bullet exit the barrel of the rifle.
"I told you when you were younger that if I ever discovered either you or Karl doing those disgusting things, you might as well find someplace else to live. So, when I get out of here, I'm calling your Uncle Walter and you can go live with him."
The bullet felt so wonderful. All the hiding, then suddenly I'm free. All the mental defenses I'd put up trying to be something I wasn't, gone. I screwy idea I could be queer without actually being a homosexual, vanished. I wanted to tell Kiel he was right, but thought why should I. If my days in North Park were numbered, why get him excited.
I should have felt better, but I didn't.
It only took a day for my desire to win over whatever disappointment Kiel was going to feel. Except, Kiel wasn't at home when I went over to tell him he was right. I waited until his parents came home, but still no Kiel.
I was beginning to wonder if Kiel might have gone somewhere when our trip to California was called off, when I saw a practically mint condition '59 Chevy station wagon pull into their driveway and Kiel get out. A wave of nausea flashed through me when I saw Tim sitting in the front seat. The realization Tim and Kiel were together raised all sorts of red flags. I wanted everything between Kiel and myself to be unencumbered by any feelings Tim and Kiel were sharing. It was simply jealousy and I didn't care.
The Elkins always had dinner promptly at five-thirty so I wasn't going to be able to see Kiel until at least seven. Except, I didn't think I could wait that long. I wanted Kiel close to me like we'd been doing before Dad went into the hospital. It was all rather one sided with Kiel sucking me then rubbing his dick against my abdomen or between my thighs, but we were together and that's all I thought I wanted. It certainly was easier than what I was doing with Stevie, who almost insisted I suck him while he was doing me.
A few minutes to six our phone rang and Sally answered it before I could. She was under strict orders from Dad and Mother not to answer the phone while they weren't home, but when did a five year old girl ever listen to any adult even if they were her parents. By the time I got downstairs, she was crying. She had the phone at her ear, but she had tears streaming out of her eyes. I took the phone away from her.
"Geoff? Is that you," Mother said.
"Yes?"
"Son, I'm sorry, buy your father is gone. I need you to call Trudy. Can you do that for me? And, Geoff? Can you help Sally, too. And, call your Uncle Lawrence. He'll be able to call the rest of the family. Can you do these things for me, Geoff?"
"Yes, I can do what you want."
I put the phone down and pulled Sally into a hug. We cried together for what seemed forever. Then I set about calling the family. I don't know what Mother was doing that she had to call with that kind of news. A person can take a matter-of-fact attitude only so far, but Mother always was unemotional about all the really serious events in all our lives. Maybe she was just trying to lessen the blow. In any case, I had to show some responsibility, even if I wasn't going to be moving to California after all.
It drizzled the day of his funeral. Everyone came, including Karl and Uncle Walter, or rather Uncle Wally. He actually looked like an adult version of Wally Cleaver. I was scared of him. I was certain he and Dad had cooked up some scheme to scare me straight, so I tried to stay away from him as much as possible.
Two days after the funeral, Uncle Wally came up to my bedroom and there wasn't anything I could do, no where to hide. I felt almost like when I had to talk to Dad in the hospital.
"How're you doin', Geoffy?" Uncle Wally asked as I opened my door. "Or, are you going by Geoff now?"
"I said goodbye to Geoffy when I was eleven," I said. I didn't know what to do with him, whether to offer him a chair or to ask him to leave.
"We haven't had a chance to talk and I wanted to see you before I left for the airport."
"I guess I won't be coming down to live with you now that Dad is gone."
"What do you mean?" Uncle Wally asked. He walked over to my bed and sat down. He looked at me, but I couldn't tell what his expression meant.
"Before Dad died he told me he was sending me down to live with you."
"That's news to me. Why would he do that? Oh, god, Geoffrey. Damn it! Did John catch you doing something with another boy?"
"Yes," I mumbled. I stared out my bedroom window toward Kiel's window. I wondered if he was at home or over at Tim's. He'd been to the funeral with his parents, but we still hadn't spoken. He still didn't know.
I felt a muscular hand on my shoulder pulling me around. Uncle Wally pulled me into a hug. He held me against him. I wanted to lay my head on his shoulder and cry like a little kid who'd lost his balloon, but I didn't and I pulled myself out of his embrace.
"I couldn't figure out why he wanted you to take care of me," I said, walking across my room and sitting down on my bed. Uncle Wally followed and sat next to me. His arm went across my back, his hand on my shoulder. It felt as if he was holding me, preventing me from getting away.
"I'd guess because he knew I was never going to get married to a woman."
"What's so bad about that?"
"Come on, Geoff, think. Do I have to spell it out?"
"Oh, you mean, but you're, then you . . ."
"I suppose your father, in his demented way of thinking, figured I'd welcome you into my home because we're both gay. You know why he was like this, don't you?"
"No he never said what happened. Me and Karl figured his friends ridiculed him because his, well, his . . ."
"No, it wasn't John's insignificance. One of the boy's older brothers caught your father and the other boy. I don't think they were doing much more than jerking each other, but all hell broke loose around our house for a couple years. Suddenly, everything got very religious to the point where John almost ended up in seminary."
"Wow, Dad a priest. That must have been something to see, considering how he is today."
"We weren't Catholic, it was much worse than that. It didn't do much good in the long run because John lost his religion in the South Pacific. I guess all that dying and killing turned him off with his god."
"He never said much about what happened to him in the war other than it was bad."
"You know, Geoff, I was thinking you might like to come down to California and work for me next summer. What do you think?"
I kind of wished Dad had lived and sent me down to California. Uncle Walter, he really doesn't like being called Wally, and I talked for nearly three hours until he had to leave for the airport. He told me a lot about his own experiences growing up on the other side of the fence, knowing the slightest innuendo might lead to losing friends, a job, or something as silly as not passing a course, which actually happened to him in college.
My desire for Kiel seemed to increase exponentially after Uncle Walter gave me a "good" talking to. I guess it was the old birds and bees talk most fathers are supposed to give their sons, but my birds and bees were mostly cocks and drones. It was probably the talk Kiel wanted me to get from Neil. All I wanted was to tell him I knew the secret handshake and my membership card was in the mail. Only, Kiel seemed to be spending a lot of time with Tim.
Two deaths in a year's time is a lot for a fifteen year old boy, but to lose a friend, too; especially to a boy who you didn't like, well, I was teetering on the edge rather quickly. Desire turned to heartache and eventually ambivalence set in turning my days into perpetual dreary hours between waking and sleep. I had no energy, no concentration, nothing interested me.
The only thing to do was take my basketball out to the driveway and throwing the silly thing at the net. Since I was so pathetically awful at making baskets, a good shot made for a very good feeling in my worthless life; except, I wasn't making any good shots. I wasn't trying hard enough to make anything close to a good shot because the last thing I wanted as days stretched into weeks and the new school year bore down on my mind was to feel anywhere close to good. Happy wasn't in my vocabulary.
I kept seeing Kiel and Tim together. They were everywhere. I was nowhere. I saw them laughing. I felt like crying. They seemed to be doing everything. I didn't know what I'd done.
I wanted to hate Tim for what he'd done to me, for what he was probably doing with Kiel, for what he'd done with Stevie. He seemed so nice afterwards, but now that he had Kiel I couldn't imagine anyone being as horrible as Tim. I tried to hate him, but I couldn't. I'd look at him and Kiel together and he looked like someone I'd want to know, too. That day in his bedroom had been so horrible, yet he practically apologized for forcing me to submit to his desires.
Exactly one week before school started I came to the conclusion nothing really mattered anymore. My life wasn't going anywhere so I wrote out a note. You have to leave a note or no one will believe you did it on purpose. My note said:
Dear Kiel,
I thought we might be friends. Then I believed we might fall in love. I wanted to love you, but you've chosen another. I can't live without you.
Always,
Geoff
I folded the paper in half, wrote his name on the outside, and taped it to the Elkins' backdoor. They'd see it sometime after I was gone.
I thought about using Dad's pistol, but Mother had sold all of Dad's guns, including the pistol. There was nothing else to do except go back to the bridge. The number sixteen trolley cost twenty-five cents and I'd be there in about forty-five minutes. Such a short time to live, but then I wasn't having much fun anyway.
I got off on the far side and jaywalked across Aurora Avenue. It was after eight o'clock, so there wasn't much chance of being killed, not that I didn't think about it. I walked slowly toward the exact spot where I'd almost done it before. I wasn't going to sit on the railing this time. Up, over, and down, that was my intention.
Tears were in my eyes when I saw Kiel standing on the sidewalk. I didn't know where he came from. I didn't want to know what he was doing there.
I felt sick, nauseous, seeing him standing in front of me, blocking my way to death. Obviously, he'd read my note. He stretched out his arms as if welcoming me into a hug. I didn't want to touch him. I didn't want to feel his body against mine. I wanted out.
I walked up to him. Our fingers touched.
"Aw, it's that the sweetest thing you've ever seen," a voice behind me said. "Okay queers up against the railing."
"What?" Kiel and I said together.
"You heard me. Up against the railing, or we'll have to open you up."
I turned to see to boys not much older than Kiel and I. They were dirty, scruffy, and both were holding knives, long, sharp knives. The kind you see in movies. The kind of knife you want in a fight. These boys weren't afraid to use them.
"Up against the railing," the tallest one said. He wasn't much taller than me, the other a head shorter. Traffic whizzed by, a few cars honking, none stopping.
Kiel and I turned and placed our hands on the railing. There was a seaplane landing on Lake Union. It looked as if it was hardly moving as it glided down to the water, the crystal white splash of water.
"This is how it'll be tonight," the tallest one said, as the other one hadn't said anything, yet. "One of you is going to jump. I don't care which, but one will jump. Either that, or one of you will be breathing out between his ribs."
"I'll go," Kiel said, pulling himself up onto the railing. Before I could say anything, he was gone. He didn't even scream.
"Wow, did you see that, queer? Looks like your lover boy didn't want the feel of my knife. Well, I'll tell you what, that's what I think you want."
The pain wasn't as excruciating as I thought. It burned, but I wasn't paying any attention to them or what they were doing to me. Kiel was dead. That's all I could think. I don't think I even heard the sirens, the gruff voices of the police pulling the toughs away from me, the firemen laying me down on the stretcher, all I could think of was Kiel killing himself for me. How could he do that?
And, then I couldn't think anymore.