MOON WATCHING
Chapter XX
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Chapter Twenty
After breakfast, we sat at the kitchen table and looked over the list Dad had given us. There was plenty to keep us busy until he arrived on the weekend. We decided we'd work on a regular schedule with the understanding that we could always make changes depending on what might or might not come up or work out.
One of the tasks Dad had laid out was work on the water system. Our water came from a spring half-way up the side of a small mountain north of the house. Water flowed by gravity to a tank atop the house and then was gravity fed to the house itself. The water pressure was, of course, very low, but adequate. However, with the farm becoming our permanent home, Dad decided to put a pump in the spring.
The pipe to the house was buried just under the surface and the water was allowed to run continuously. The spring water was a constant temperature winter and summer and allowing it to run continuously prevented it's freezing during the winter. However, if we put in a pump, the water would not run all the time and the supply pipe had to be buried deeper. Additionally, an electric line would have to be run to the spring from the house to operate the pump.
As we looked at the list, Keith said, "Obviously the big job here is digging the ditch for the water and power line from the house to the pump. I suggest we spend time on that first thing each morning and lay off when it gets too hot."
"Sounds good," I agreed. "We'll have to wait until Dad gets here to get the pump, but I see no reason we can't get the pipe and wire and get them laid."
We checked on the tools we had and definitely needed to purchase a couple of shovels and a mattock. We found a twenty-five foot steel tape and measured the distance from house to spring and, at Keith's suggestion, added several feet to be sure we had enough pipe and wire.
We drove into Clarksville--which Keith was seeing for the first time--and went to Lowe's. We found a woman in the electrical section who asked a lot of questions then selected the wire we needed. She said it would be hard to handle, but it would be best if we bought a large spool and not have to splice the wire. She told us when we were ready to leave, to go to the contractor's entrance and someone would load the wire for us.
We took the ticket she provided and then went to the plumbing department. Again, we found a man who was very helpful. Since we hadn't bought the pump, he had a lot of questions and finally told us all we needed was a shallow well pump since we only needed pressure, not lift.
Keith was not one to stay ignorant and asked the fellow what he meant. He explained that the water was already at ground level, so it wouldn't need lifting. "If you had a well, the pump would have to lift the water to ground level."
"While you are getting your supplies, why not go ahead and get what you'll need? Think I might even be able to get you a bundle price on a whole system." He asked more questions and finally made up a shopping list for us. We went ahead and bought the pump and all we'd need to actually get it installed.
He made out a ticket for us to take to the cashier and when he started ringing it up, I hoped Dad hadn't given me a maxed out credit card! We were ready to have everything loaded when we remembered our own shopping list which was good because we hadn't bought the tools we needed.
After everything was loaded I asked, "Keith, had your daily grease requirement?" He looked puzzled and I added, "You are about to get your week's allotment of grease and great hamburgers.
We drove to the Busy Bee and I ordered four burgers, fries and a coke for us. Keith found a table outside while I got the food. As we were eating, four guys came outside, carrying trays piled high.
"Mind if we join you?" a blond asked us. The other three were dark; I suspected they were at least part Indian.
"Not at all," I answered as I scooted over to make room. "You guys from around here?" I asked, pretty sure at least the blond was from his accent.
"Deep Cove," he answered, "I'm Hank Dennison. These are my brothers, Jason Talltree, Douglas McElrath and Jonathan Henderson."
"Tom McCarter," I responded, "and my brother, Keith Anderson. We're from College Park, Georgia, outside Atlanta."
"Looks like your brother is from a different tribe too," Hank laughed.
"Yeah, seems to run in both our families," I replied.
"Vacationing?" Hank asked.
"Half and half," I answered. "We're working on our place on Pea Ridge, getting it ready for year-round use."
Before long, Keith and the others with Hank joined in our conversation and we talked about what we were doing and what they were up to, nothing serious. Strange as it may seem, the next time I met any of them, we both had forgotten our meeting at the Busy Bee.
By the time we got back to the house, it was quite warm and we unloaded the truck and went for a swim.
There is something very satisfying about hard work where you can see progress. Fortunately, we didn't run into too many rocks in digging the ditch and the ones we encountered were so large we just trenched around them. While the digging was hard and the progress slow, each morning when we stopped, we could see we were making progress.
After ditching all morning, we had lunch and took a nap. After our nap, we swam and played in the river, often lying in the shade on the rock extending over the river. I couldn't take the sun and Keith saw no good reason to be baked, he said.
In the afternoon, we worked inside the house.
As most mountain cabins dating back a generation or so, the North Carolina farm house, like Topsy, just grew. The original cabin built by my great grandfather was two rooms and a loft. Originally the loft was reached by climbing a ladder fastened to the wall. Dad's father and his uncle were born in the cabin and slept in the loft.
Before he married, Dad's Uncle Jake had added a large room--more than twice the size of the two bedrooms--to the cabin which became our living room. He also added a shed room for a kitchen. The loft was extended over the living room and narrow stairs replaced the ladder. He also piped the water from the spring.
When Uncle Elbert had inherited the farm, he had torn down the shed room and added a room all the way across back of the house which was divided into a kitchen and storage room. He also built a small room, a bathroom, reached from either of the two bedrooms. As I mentioned earlier, a bathroom was added to the loft area--my area--as a graduation present when I graduated from middle school.
When the decision was made to make the cabin Mom and Dad's retirement house, Mom said something had to be done about the bedrooms. "We'll freeze to death unless something major is done," she said, and she was right.
Dad talked with a contractor who advised him to sheetrock the walls of the bedrooms and the bathroom. "But before you do, you need to insulate the walls. You'll need to wrap the walls, add insulation--I'd advise plastic foam--and then sheetrock." That could have provoked a major discussion about maintaining the authentic mountain cabin interior, but only with people who hadn't spent a winter's night at the place!!
Dad arranged for a contractor to look over the house and decided what needed to be done, to get the materials delivered and supervise Keith and me if he thought we could handle getting ready for sheetrock. The contractor had called before school was out and suggested he get a crew into do the insulation and then he's show Keith and me how to hang sheetrock. "They can do that," he said, "but you'll want professionals to finish it."
The crew had done the insulation when we arrived, but when we called the contractor about sheetrock lessons, he said he was tied up for a couple days and only arrived Wednesday.
We discussed leaving the living-dining area as it was since it had its walls covered with wide chestnut boards. The contractor thought that might be adequate, but suggested he get some real mountain craftsmen in to carefully removed the chestnut, re-chink the logs, wrap and insulate them before replacing the chestnut. Dad agreed that would be done.
After the contractor's visit, we worked afternoons hanging sheetrock. The contractor came back early Friday morning to check on us and said we were doing ok.
Later that day, Keith and I were lying on the rock after having played in the river for an hour or so. I had dreamed about Derrick the night before and it had been in the back of my mind all day. "Keith, do you dream about LaTasha?" I asked.
"Now you mean?"
"Yeah, well, any time."
"I dreamed about her a lot right after she died. Mostly I dreamed she had been away and was back. I just thought she was dead, she'd tell me.
"I dreamed about Derrick last night. I don't often. Last night was different from other dreams I had since he was killed. It was so real. I dreamed we--you and I--were lying on the moon watching rock, making wishes on shooting stars. You said--well, I thought it was you, but it was Derrick's voice--the voice said, "You wish has come true," and when I looked, it wasn't you lying beside me, it was Derrick. He kissed me and that was the end of the dream. I didn't wake up, I just stopped dreaming."
"I don't know, Tom. I think Derrick's and LaTasha's spirits didn't want to give us up any more than we wanted to give them up. Then, when LaTasha decided to give me up, she helped me give her up. I haven't dreamed about LaTasha since our trip to Mississippi."
We were silent for several minutes, buried in our thoughts, then Keith asked, "Tom, did you ever tell Derrick about--you know--the night we spent at the moon watching rock? I often wondered if you had, how he reacted."
"He didn't react at all, Keith, because I never told him. The first time I thought about it, I decided I would not tell him. It was before I met him and all, but, Keith, it was just too personal, too private--I even said too sacred--to be shared. It wouldn't have made any difference so far as his feelings toward me were concerned, I'm sure, but it might have changed his attitude toward you. He was, as he said, a little jealous of our relationship and that couldn't have made him less jealous."
"You ever regret that night?"
"You know I don't, Keith. You?"
"No,and thanks for keeping it special between us."
Mom and Dad arrived Saturday morning at lunch. We had finished hanging sheetrock in one bedroom by the time they arrived and had the ditch for the water line almost done. Dad was surprised at how much we had accomplished.
After lunch, we sat down and talked about what we needed to add to the to-do list. "One thing for sure, Keith and I will be here until the snow flies if we're expected to get all that done," I said.
"You'll have a little help," Mom said. "Your dad and I counted up the days we have accumulated and the system is due us almost three months. They will only pay for seventy-two days accumulated leave when we retire, so we're going to use the rest. We're here for the next two months unless we want to do something else."
Like most mountain cabins, the house had small windows and few of those. Since the single small window in the kitchen faced the side of a mountain, it was especially dark and Mom asked about a kitchen skylight. Since there was no loft over the kitchen, a skylight was a possibility.
After we inspected the roof, Dad decided to just have a new one put on and the kitchen skylight added while that was being done. I asked for and got a second skylight for the loft. I also traded comfort for authenticity--my walls and ceiling would be insulated and sheetrocked.
Saturday afternoon, we rode into Clarksville and made arrangements for the skylights to be put in, the new roof put on and the sheetrock finished. We would hang the sheetrock, but Dad agreed with the contractor that we'd not do a decent job finishing it, but we could do the painting.
We followed pretty much the same schedule we had followed before the parents arrived. The week after their arrival, we finished hanging the sheetrock as well as installing the pump. By Friday evening, everything was ready for the sheetrock finishers and the roofers promised to start Monday as well.
While we were in Clarksville during the week, Keith noticed a sign for music on the square Friday and Saturday nights. There were some groups listed--none we knew, of course--and a note that others would be welcome.
We talked about going Friday evening, but Mom and Dad both decided they'd rather stay home and rest after a week of pretty hard physical labor--at least for school principals.
Keith and I went and had a grand time. There were large groups, small groups and an occasional soloist playing. There was a platform in front of the courthouse, but others were playing here and there on the lawn. The music was all acoustical which meant you could have two groups playing fairly close together without a problem.
Saturday evening we all went back into Clarksville, had dinner at the Gourmet Uptown and then enjoyed the music on the square again. Keith and I decided we'd work up something and play the following week--if we managed to survive working on the house.
Sunday afternoon, Dad looked over what had yet to be done and what would be going on the following week and decided once all the workers got started, he'd leave me and Keith in charge and he and Mom would go back and begin the process of sorting through stuff, packing things not needed until we moved in December, and in general, getting ready to move. There were also some things he wanted done to the College Park house to get it ready for the market, such as painting and all.
The rest of the summer quickly passed. Keith and I worked on the cabin and it's surroundings, played fetch for the workers who put on a new roof, finished sheetrock and the other jobs "best left to the professionals."
Most weekends found us on the square Friday or Saturday evening. We play together on a few things we worked out and sat in with some other guys.
It was hard to realize the end of summer was upon us, but when Keith's parents, Joe, Trey and Queen showed up for Labor Day weekend, we knew summer was over.
Keith and I talked about it on the way home and both decided we had a good summer. I had worked through a lot of the grieving I had to do. I still missed Derrick, of course, but he didn't occupy nearly all my thoughts as he had when we first got to the cabin.
Keith had discovered he was very fond of Janice, but not in love with her. I suspected as much when his phone calls to her stopped being nightly and then became farther and farther apart. Good thing because in late August she phoned to tell him she had met someone "with whom I want to spend the rest of my life."
Keith was angry at himself because while he didn't love Janice, he was unhappy that she had dropped him for someone else. I assured him it was just his male ego. "Testosterone, my brother, testosterone," I said and he agreed.
Neither of us were surprised to learn Josh had also found a boyfriend. Keith had said early on, "I thought only gay guys have gaydar, but I have one going off every time I'm around Josh. He bats for your team." Josh's boyfriend was an older, very wealthy fellow. He had been a guest at the resort in Montana where Josh was working. He came for a week and kept extending his stay. Finally Josh turned in his resignation and went home with the guy. He dropped out of Morehouse and enrolled in a college in California where his boyfriend lived.
Janice disapproved. Keith said he wasn't sure whether her disapproval was of the particular boyfriend, an older boyfriend or just any boyfriend.
Labor Day over, it was back to school. There was all the senior nonsense this year. Part of it I participated in--pictures, yearbook--and some I did not. I didn't pay my prom dues because I wouldn't be in College Park for the prom, same with graduation invitations, ordering a cap and gown, things which I wouldn't be needing since I would not be at East River for graduation. Dad had suggested I make arrangements with the senior sponsor at Coldsprings High--where I would be going after Christmas--to have graduation things ordered. I also found I could exchange my class ring, but didn't bother. I seldom wore it and knew I wouldn't wear a Coldsprings one either.
Keith and I had spent the summer together, often just the two of us in the cabin. For me it was a lot like things had been before I revealed I was gay and before LaTasha and Derrick had entered our lives. We often sat for a very long time without speaking and when one or the other of us broke the silence, it was as if he knew what the other was thinking. We were, as we had been since birth--with a little time out--the closest possible friends.
A new English teacher at East River was a volleyball nut and wanted to get a varsity volleyball team started. Keith suggested we join and we did. It put us in contact with a new group of students since we were the only members who played baseball and the only seniors.
I discovered I loved the sport as did Keith and we both became pretty good players. For a new team, I think we did well against older, established teams winning just less than half the games we played.
Aside from volleyball, school was essentially a bore. I had decided I'd not do zero period after Keith questioned it's value. We were threatened with loss of the math-science seal on our diploma, but that proved an empty threat to me since I would not be graduating from East River. It was an empty one for Keith as well since he had all the classes he needed to get it without zero period.
Without zero period, we had to rearrange our schedules and ended up needing one more class and the only one available was called Contemporary Issues. Turned out, it was the bright spot in the school day.
The class was a discussion of issues in the news at the moment. Took a couple weeks for Mr. Greene to lead us through the principles of logical and rational argument. He had a real struggle making it clear that emotion and feelings were not valid reasons for supporting or disagreeing with an issue. He also had to lead us through the argumentative fallacies and still students fell in to the fallacy trap. Probably the trap tripped most often was the one where "all," "always," "never," "none," "every," "everyone," and other all inclusive terms were used.
I knew sooner or later the question of gays would come up in one way or another: in the military, gay marriage, discrimination in the work place, on sports teams, AIDS. There were plenty of possibilities. What finally brought it up was an event at East River involving a teacher who was serving time for sexual abuse of students.
The case had been splashed all over the papers when a student finally had enough guts to expose one of the science teachers who was sexually exploiting him and several other students. The teacher was convicted and sentenced to twenty-eight years in prison. He was all but forgotten about when an associate no one knew about was arrested for peddling tapes the two had made of the students the science teacher had gulled.
Had the students in the class been asked to vote, the two would have at least been castrated if not worse. In the course of the "discussion"--it was more of a shouting match--all sorts of gay stereotypes were flung around carelessly. After class, Keith and I discussed whether or not I should reveal I was gay and we both had mixed feelings about it.
We talked to Joe and Trey and their advice was to make sure we realized what was involved in either keeping silence or speaking out, "Be damn sure you understand what's involved if you speak out," Trey said. "Remember, you're in an essentially all African-American school and believe me, we brothers really know how to treat our gay brothers like shit."
"That I think I realized," I said.
"Yeah, you sure as hell did, didn't you," he responded.
I had spoken without breaking down and felt it marked a milestone in my getting over Derrick's death--well, not getting over it since I guess you never "get over" the death of someone you love. You just learn to deal with it, to live with it.
I was pleased and surprised when the way to speak up was paved for me by Scooter Hicks and Antwone Jackson, co-captains of the football team. One of the women in the class, Sharon, kept going on about queers this and faggots that. Mr. Greene had asked her before to exercise care in the terms she chose.
Things really came to a head--so to speak--a couple days later when Sharon started again. She sniggered and said "Well, queers are responsible for a lot of problems. We all know their limp wrists and feminine mannerisms are just ways to hide their little dicks while they spread AIDS."
Scooter looked at Antwone, winked and said, "Best I know, it's you heteros who are spreading HIV these days. And I don't know about your HETERO boyfriend, but my GAY boyfriend certainly does not have a limp wrist, isn't feminine acting and sure as hell doesn't have a small dick, do you Antwone?" Needless to say, that got the class' attention.
The bell rang before the discussion could go any further, in fact, before Mr. Greene got the class back under control. As Scooter and Antwone started past me and Keith--they were walking, holding hands--I said, "That took courage. I hadn't gotten mine up to that point yet. Thanks."
"You and Keith gay?" Antwone asked.
"Just me," I answered.
"But I know you know he doesn't have a limp wrist and I can testify, he's no needle dick," Keith laughed.
"Let's get together after school. Meet you in the parking lot?" I asked.
"Sure," Scooter answered.
I had driven so Keith and I were walking to the car when Antwone shouted,"Hey, guys, wait up!"
Keith and I had talked as we were walking to the car and I had told him I was going to out myself next class and he said, "Yeah, I guess you need to. How about we get you, Antwone and Scooter together, photograph your cocks and post them for the class to judge if Sharon knows what she's talking about."
I punched him on the arm as Scooter and Antwone walked up.
"We'll let these guys judge my suggestion," Keith grinned and told them what he had said.
"Yeah, sounds good," Antwone said, reached out and grabbed Scooter's cock, leaving a clear impression of a "not small" dick. "Trouble is, Sharon probably would dump her needle dick boyfriend and try to take mine."
We had a good laugh and Keith suggested we go to the Cool Place on the Square in East Point for ice cream. I said nothing and the two football players thought it was a good idea.
We got our ice cream, found a table and I was surprised I was doing ok--almost. I had not been to Cool Place since Derrick's death and he, Keith and I spent a lot of time there and I suspected it might trigger emotions I couldn't handle.
"Doing ok, my brother? Keith asked and when he did, I realized the three had been chattering away and I had said nothing.
I took a deep breath and said, "Yeah, ok. Just ok I guess."
"Gee, I'm sorry. Something bothering you?" Scooter asked.
"Yeah. Remember Derrick Murphy?"
"Yeah," Antwone said. "He died in an accident last year, right?"
"Sort of an accident. His stepfather shoved him through the railing of an upstairs landing. He hit his head and was brain dead when the machines were turned off. He was my lover. We spent a lot of time here."
"Damn, you should have said something when Keith suggested coming," Scooter said.
"No, Keith is very good about when to push and when to back off. I'm fine, just caught up in remembering. By the way, that's how far some African-Americans will go. His stepfather accused me of being a honkie faggot who turned Derrick queer."
"Well, I can understand that," Antwone said as he reached under the table and grabbed Scooter. "Scooter here turned me queer. Before I was just as straight as an arrow."
"He's not lying," Scooter laughed, "but after a good session with me, he was no longer straight as an arrow, but limp as a noodle."
We all had a good laugh and then the three of us talked about how we knew we were gay and when, how I had dealt with Derrick's death, Keith and my friendship. I was having a wonderful time when Scooter said, "Look, Antwone and I know there are other gay guys at East River, but like our not knowing you were gay..."
"And my not knowing you two--football heroes at that--were."
"There ought to be a way to let people know they are not alone."
"Yeah, and folks like me who are straight, but think, gay or straight, we should all be treated like people, and not labels."
"You never had any problem with Tom being gay?" Antwone asked.
"Well, I wouldn't say that," Keith laughed and we told the two what happened when I kissed him.
"So you got over that problem," Scooter said, "but I have an important question. Tell me, is he a good kisser?"
Antwone punched Scooter on the arm and we all had a good laugh. Then Keith started us laughing again when he said, "He's a good kisser."
We talked some more and all decided we'd see if we couldn't find some way to deal with gays being isolated. Before we left the ice cream parlor, we agreed to see what we could find on the internet and get together after school the next day and pool our knowledge.
MOON WATCHING
Chapter XXI
At dinner, I told Mom and Dad about Scooter and Antwone and what we were trying to do. I also told them I would probably out myself in the next class and if not, soon anyway. Both assured me they would support me whether or not I decided to out myself.
Later, after I finished my school work, I got on my computer and gave Google a good work out. I found a lot of information about gay high school students, but not much aimed at what we had discussed. Most of the sites were out to damn gays to hell, get them cured or prove harassment of gays was good else they were about pro-gay lawsuits, gay school clubs and gay proms. We were just trying to find a way to let gay guys know they were not the only ones at East River, not start a revolution--at least not yet.
Well, we also wanted people like Keith to let gays know there were straight students who simply wanted everyone to be treated like human beings. And then I thought about lesbians. We hadn't mentioned them at all. Lot of the sites I found were those Derrick and I had looked at when we were learning about gay sex. Nothing new there.
I was having no luck at all--or too much--with "gay high school" as my search entry. Before I gave up completely I typed in "gay youth" and found "younggayamerica.com." It looked very promising and I just started going down the list under General Resources. I was getting a lot of the same things I had before and was getting pretty discouraged. I decided I'd just give up when an entry under General Resources caught my eye. The Mail Crew sounded like it might involve communication and that was what we were after. I clicked on The Mail Crew and found a site that was exactly what we were looking for. It even had a "how-to-do-it" section.
When Keith picked me up the next morning, he said, "Man, I must have looked at a thousand gay sites last night. Every time I thought I was on to something helpful, I ended up at a porn site. Some of that stuff might turn you on, but to me it's just nasty."
"Ever look at a straight porn web site?"
"Of course."
"Your reaction?"
"Well, some of it turned me on, but mostly, to tell the truth, it kinda grossed me out. My brother, I do not NEED porn to get me hot and ready for action."
"Same for me and gay web sites," I said. "I think porn, gay or straight, is for guys who can't get it up. I have more trouble getting it down!"
"Know that's the truth, my brother," Keith laughed. "Anyway, I did find a site called "Young Gay America" They have a section called Closet Interviews which are interviews of people who are not out. Interesting, sometimes depressing. Be good for people to know about it since you can do an interview and have it posted, but it's not like knowing someone else at your school is gay, even if you don't know who they are."
"Wow, my man, you are thinking."
"Yeah, well, see, I have this best friend who's gay." Keith laughed.
Antwone and Scooter had done their searching at Scooter's place. "We found just what we are looking for," Scooter said as the two caught up with me and Keith at our lockers.
"Yeah, Scooter is into reading gay porn..."
"No porn guys. Just good gay romances. I don't NEED porn to get me on 'Ready.'"
"He's right about that," Antwone said.
Keith and I started laughing our fool heads off and when we got control of ourselves, Keith told the two we had said the same thing about not needing porn to get it up. "Gay or straight, teen age males are always ready for action. It's always up or on its way up!" Keith added.
"Yeah, well, anyway, and no how, Scooter's always on the look out for a site which has stories that are more than just porn and an e-mail buddy from Utah--man, you talk about being in the closet. That whole damn state is in the closet. Did you know there are no gay Mormons?"
"Yeah, same as there are no gay African-Americans," Scooter said, then added, "Get on with it, Lover Boy."
"Yeah, right, anyway, his e-mail buddy gave him a heads up on a new site, "Awesome Dude," which posts good stories. Awesome Dude talks about and has a link to a group called The Mail Crew. You would have thought they had an order from us for information and suggestions."
Keith was laughing like an idiot before the two lovers had finished and when they had, he said, "Different route, but my brother Tom hopped in the truck today telling me about The Mail Crew.
As soon as we were allowed in the hall, we went to the media center and signed up for a computer and the four of us looked up The Mail Crew site and went over every thing on it again with a fine toothed comb. We were all taking notes and by the time the bell for homeroom rang, we had a pretty good idea of how it worked and were thinking about how to launch a similar program in a school where homophobes not only existed, but, to tell the truth, were allowed and, sad to say, sometimes encouraged, to harass students. Some teachers were also pretty homophobic. So, truth of the matter, we hadn't the foggiest idea of how to proceed at dear ol' East River Hi.
In Current Issues, the "discussion" which had started the day before was immediately re-opened.
"If you and your BOYFRIEND choose to be queer, then you need to be prepared to deal with good, religious people who KNOW having sex with another man is sinful. The Bible says it's a sin," Sharon announced practically as soon as the bell rang.
"So?" Scooter asked. "So?"
"SO you're sinning when you're laying with Antwone as you would with a woman."
"As I would lay with a woman? Maybe you don't understand, Sharon, but I don't LAY with women. Don't and don't want to. The very thought is, I'm sure you would guess if you gave it a nanosecond's thought, kinda repulsive to me. Since I don't lay with women, I can't lay with Antwone as I would lay with a woman because, need I repeat, I'd never lay with a woman, so I guess that means I'm ok."
"Well, you're not! You know what I mean."
"Do you mean what you say or not?" Antwone asked. "I'm confused. Anyway, did you have shrimp poppers for lunch or the fish?" Antwone asked.
"What has that got to do with anything? If you must know, I had the fish, as if it mattered."
"Well, it does, oh it does," Scooter said. "Because the Bible says you're not to eat shellfish or fish without scales and the fish was catfish. No scales."
"That no longer counts. Jesus did away with that," Sharon said, a bit of triumph in her voice.
"Oh, you pick and choose what counts and what doesn't. So what did Jesus say about my having sex with Antwone?" Scooter asked.
"Well, OF COURSE he said nothing about YOU. I don't recall what he said about laying with a man like you would with a woman, but I'll find out and, anyway, I KNOW he said it was a sin."
The argument went on for awhile with Scooter and Antwone pinning Sharon's ears back a few more times. Finally Mr. Greene decided to get the class back on track and said, "First point, 'Jesus says' is support for a valid argument for Christians and only Christians, but you cannot use one religion's scriptures to prove or disprove something to a nonbeliever. Second point, even Christians are divided on the issue of homosexuality. The question is being debated in most Christian communions today. If you are an active Christian, maybe you'd like to find out what your particular group says. If you're not a Christian, choose another religion--not necessarily your own--and find out it's position on gay relationships."
When the bell rang, Scooter, Antwone, Keith and I asked Mr. Greene if we could see him after school and he told us to come by his room.
When we got to his room, he was talking with another teacher and we stopped outside and peeped in. He motioned for us to come on in.
"Guys, I'll be with you in a minute," he said as we walked in.
When he and the other teacher had finished talking, he came over to where we were sitting and sat down in a desk. "Wha'sup?" he asked.
"We're concerned about gay people here at East River," Scooter said. "I'm sure you know that Antwone and I are not the only gay men going to school here and there are bound to be gay women as well."
"If the percentages hold up, there should be about a hundred-eighteen more. Right?" Mr. Greene said.
"Well, I guess a hundred-seventeen," I said. "I'm gay."
Mr. Greene chuckled and asked, "How about you, Keith? Are you gay?"
"No, I'm the token straight in this bunch, but definitely gay-friendly. Of course, I wasn't always and that's why I'm concerned about the other gay students."
"Keith, I bat for your team as well," Mr. Greene said, "but because I am, I guess, effeminate in a lot of my mannerisms, I have been called gay and been asked if I were gay more than once. I'm glad you four are concerned, but what are you planning on doing about it?"
Among the four of us, we told him about The Mail Crew and Young Gay America and Mr. Greene became increasingly interested.
"You guys willing to start and run a site similar to the one you describe? The Mail Crew site, I mean?"
"Sure," Scooter replied. "Antwone and I have seen little difference since we outed ourselves in your class, but I don't think that would be typical."
"I know you're right," Keith said. "You two are football heroes and big enough to discourage harassment. I suspect that might be true of Tom as well, except he's a honkie and that is enough to get him harassed from time to time. Right, my brother?"
I didn't answer for a couple minutes as I had a flask back to the Major and his tirades against "honkie faggots," a group to which he assigned me. "Indeed," I finally answered. "Mr. Greene, you said your effeminate mannerisms meant some have called you gay or asked if you were gay. Have you been harassed for being gay, even though you are straight?"
"Yeah, like Scooter and Antwone had been left along because they do not fit the stereotype, I have been harassed--especially in high school--because I do fit a stereotype. There has been some harassment here at East River."
"Not by students?" Keith asked.
"Not to my face or where I could hear it," Mr. Greene answered. "After all, everyone knows I put the grades in the book," he laughed. "No, it's from parents and seldom directly. See, as a white teacher, I, as all the white teachers here at East River, have black parents who want us gone--and I suspect we would be if 1) there was not a federal court ruling which says each school in the system must reflect--as closely as possible--the racial make up of the entire system and 2) black teachers could be found who would teach here. So, no, it's the parents who use my effeminate mannerism against me. I try to be conscious of them and change and I have eliminated some, but it's just the way I am put together I guess."
"Like being gay?" I asked.
"Like being gay," Mr. Greene smiled.
We talked for another half hour and decided we'd just get things together and announce the creation of a Mail Crew type program for East River. Since we figured we'd have a web site sooner or later, we didn't want to use The Mail Crew as our name and chose "Secret Pals" tentatively.
Seems Scooter and Antwone were up on web site building and they went right to work, checking with me and Keith and The Mail Crew often. When we were ready to announce, we discussed the most effective way to do that and decided the flier method which was well-known at East River would be the best route and beat posters which we sure be torn down by the time they were up.
Fliers are common around East River. Half a sheet of letter sized paper, they were used to announce parties. The parties were not like social events for a group of friends, but parties organized by one of the several DJs associated with someone at East River. They were held in empty warehouses, closed stores, any large open space in a building with plenty of parking. The cost was usually ten dollars for men and women were often free or half price.
The police tried to ride herd on such parties, but a flier usually appeared Friday and the party was Friday night. The kids got to the place, went inside and the doors were closed and what appeared to the outside was an empty building. Sometimes the fliers only gave a phone number and when a person called, they were given directions which left them in the middle of no where. After they were checked out by hidden party sponsors, their cell phone rang and the location given.
Why all the secrecy? Free flowing (but NOT free) alcohol, plenty of drugs--especially Ecstasy--and sex made the parties what they were and why the police frowned on the whole undertaking. Last year a north county--rich and white north county--party got out of hand and a couple people--one a thirteen year old--died of alcohol poisoning. Another party in south county resulted in the death of a fourteen year old guy and critical injuries to three others when someone--and he was white--went wild with a gun. Victims of drug overdoses in both north and south were common, some fatal.
Anyway, Keith was pretty good at drawing and he drew a cartoon to be used for the flier and we got them printed up. The party fliers were just left on desks, lunch tables, stuck in car windows and under windshield wipers. We printed up three hundred and did the same. We got all of them where someone could see one before lunch. At lunch, they were a topic of conversation--both pro and con.
We had decided to do a nightly rotation for e-mail answering and Keith had Friday night and I had Sunday. The response was slow. Antwone was disappointed, but I pointed out that students had to take a giant step to write and had to have a level of trust. "I predict the pace will pick up quickly," I said, and it did.
Mr. Greene was very pleased with the site and how we were handling it. A couple weeks after we had announced the site, he said, "Class, I have been looking at a web site. It is maintained, it says, by East River students, but there are no names. Some of you might want to check it out. It's called Secret Pals and is for 'gay, bi,transgendered, confused, straight and the just curious.' I'm still trying to figure out who's not included!"
The following class period, Secret Pals was the topic of discussion. Sharon, of course, was on her soapbox. She hadn't really looked at the site she said, but was ready, willing and able to demand it be taken down. She said she wasn't sure why Mr. Greene mentioned it and "It has to be done by cowards since they won't say who they are."
Scooter had become a thorn in Sharon's flesh and decided, I suppose, to twist the thorn. "I'm not surprised. If I had anything to do with a site directed to gays and so on, I'd not like to have everyone know where I lived or my school. There are a lot of people out there who want to hurt us. Hate crime is not some abstract concept, Sharon. What happened to Matthew Shepard got nation-wide attention and was particularly horrendous, but it's only an extreme example."
"Oh, how DRAMATIC, Scooter!" Sharon said. "How very like a GAY boy."
Shawn, a fellow who seldom said much, stood up and said, "Sharon, gay or straight, I still think you have a stereotype for everyone and everything. It saves thinking. Or is it you don't think because you don't have the equipment for it? I have never heard you utter a statement which reflects any thought at all. And Sharon, I DO wish you'd release your verbal Cap Lock key."
That last comment by Shawn brought the class to its feet, cheering while Shawn did a Muppets' Miss Piggy exhibition.
Shawn was a bit effeminate and Keith and I had thought he might be gay, but certainly weren't sure. When I mentioned the possibility again, Keith said, "You know, we are guilty of stereotyping. There is no reason to believe Shawn is gay except he's kinda effeminate."
"Guilty," I answered.
Over the next few weeks, Secret Pals received more and more e-mails, about one third hate mail, one third out to save our souls and one third serious.
One evening as I opened the e-mail for Secret Pals, I took a deep breath as I read:
"Dear Secret Pal: I am a senior at East River and have been called names since I was in grade school--sissy, candy ass nigger, faggot, queer, pansy, fruit, bitch--you name it. I have been beat up a few times, had urine poured in my locker, girl's panties put in my backpack, stripped and left on the athletic field in grade school and my pants taken and my dick dyed red with ink in high school.
I thought I was tough enough to stand up to it all, but lately it's gotten worse. Something happens everyday. Today three football gorillas drove pass me as I was walking home from school, turned around and came back. They jumped out of their car, grabbed me and dragged me into the car. Two of them held me while the third drove to a place in the piney woods two or three miles from school.
They dragged me out of the car and back off the field road where they had to leave the car. They made me get down on my knees and told me if didn't suck their dicks they would fuck my faggot ass. Two of them held me while I sucked the third. Each time when they got ready to cum, they shot off in my face. When they finished with me, they left me in the pines and I had to walk the three miles to my house.
See, I am straight. I don't hate or dislike gays. I don't hate anyone, but I sure don't like people who mistreat people. I know why I am called names and all. It's because "you walk like girl and act like a girl," my father says. I've tried to change and I have changed some habits, but a lot of how I walk and all is just the way I am.
Oh, I didn't tell my parents. No need. My father would, again, tell me if I didn't act like a candy ass nigger, such things wouldn't happen. My mom won't do or say anything because when she does, my father yells at her and tells her she's responsible for my being a sissy.
In Contemporary Issues class I have tried to stand up for people who are different, but it has only made my torture worse. I had to get rid of my own phone because I was being called all hours of the night. I planned to start riding the Big Cheese to school because when I walk, I get shouted at and afraid I'd be attacked. I'm afraid most of the time and even when I sleep, I have nightmares.
I'll be honest, I am about ready to chuck the whole thing. How worth living is life when you're afraid all the time, when any dumb jock can make a cock sucker out of you?
Thanks for listening.
A Miserable Senior"
"Want to make a bet on who wrote that?" I asked Keith when I called him about it.
"It sure fits Shawn, doesn't it? I can't think of anyone else in Issues it fits."
"My thoughts exactly. What are we going to do about it?"
"You are going to answer it. You've been there. You've tried to take your life. You know it solves nothing."
"Do you hear yourself?" I asked. "You never got around to trying, but you certainly were where this fellow is. Right?"
"Hard for me to believe, but, yes, I was."
I spent an hour working on a response. Called Keith and we worked on it some more. We finally wrote:
"Dear Miserable Senior:
Few people, I suspect, can say honestly, "I know how you feel." We can come close because both of us have stood where you are standing. One of us actually did the deed, but was rescued in the nick of time. Here's some things to think about--
You are very important to some people now and others who have not met you yet. Don't take away from them the pleasure and joy of knowing you, respecting you, caring for you, loving you.
Taking your life is permanent. Things change, people change. Who knows what the future holds? The truth of the matter is, it holds nothing if you are not here. Any dreams you have become null and void if you are not here to make them come true.
Make a list of all the things you love and ask yourself why you would want to give them up.
Don't let your father put you down. It doesn't matter that he seems to think you brought your treatment on yourself. You didn't, so don't let him tell you just to buck up and be a man. You are a man.
Help is always available, but you have to ask for it. Speak to a counselor at school. Talk with a favorite teacher. Ask another student to sit down and talk with you. Talk to the police. You were kidnapped and sexually abused.
Write us back or, if you like, tell us who you are so we can make ourselves available to you. If you let us know who you are, we can give you the name of a policemen who will listen.
Finally, give serious thought to making those who harass you unhappy by sticking around! Don't let the bastards wear you down!!
Your Secret Pals
P. S. For all our protection, you need to make sure we are on the up and up and we need to do the same. Ask us a test question and please answer ours.
Question: Who at East River talks with her Caps Lock key on?"
We talked a long time before we agreed we'd send the e-mail. We were scared shitless by the weight of what we were trying to deal with, but we had asked for it.
The next day when we got to school, we looked up Scooter and Antwone and asked them what they thought of our letter. Both said it probably could be better, but they were as ignorant of how as we were. I think all of us were more than a little relieved when we saw Shawn walk into the cafeteria at lunch.
Later, as we were walking into Contemporary Issues, Shawn was just ahead of us and as he passed Sharon's desk said, in a clear voice, "You know, Sharon, I have decided you really don't count in my world or in the eyes of most of the people in the world. You call yourself religious, but you spew hate and disdain anyone who does not meet the Sharon test of purity. Frankly if God made me as uptight and bitchy as you are, I'd put in for a god change. So go your little bigoted way, but stay out of my space." Shawn turned to walk to his desk and as he did, gave his booty a "shake, rattle and roll." Sharon's mouth was still open when the bell rang.
"Dear Secret Pals:
I felt good today. Thanks for your e-mail. Yeah, thanks, I needed that.
Today I decided name calling and that kind of shit would just slide off of me and mostly it did. I even got the courage to tell Sharon where to go. It caught her by surprise and she not only had nothing to say with her Caps Lock key down, she had nothing to say, period.
I'm thinking about letting you know who I am. It's kinda frightening, you know. Same with talking to the police. I'll have to think about that some more.
I talked to my mom before my father got home and told her I thought we should stand up to him and not let him keep putting us down. She's afraid he'll leave and she would be without house or home. I don't think she'll do anything and I'm afraid if I challenge the old man, he'll put me on the street.
Thanks for paying attention to me. I'm still hanging in there.
A Less Miserable Senior
P. S. If you don't believe Sharon Ellis talks with her CAPS LOCK key down, drop by Contemporary Issues sixth period any day.
Challenge: Name a senior on the volleyball team."
Scooter had the Secret Pals ship's helm and called us to ask about the volley ball team. It hardly needs saying that it did not attract the following the football team did and he wasn't sure who was on it. I laughed to myself and suggested he call Keith and ask. The next day he told me I had played a nasty trick on him. "Just letting you know there are sports which neither require a gorilla brain or body," I retorted.
Scooter had written Less Miserable senior, acknowledging it was frightening to take a risk such as he had and encouraging him to continue the new path he was on. Scooter was realistic, but praised the steps he had taken and underscored our willingness to help saying we were standing by to help "as needed."
Before lunch, we checked with each other between classes, asking if anyone had seen Shawn. No one had.
Seniors had a section in the cafeteria reserved for them and we all expected to see Shawn in his usual place. He was not.
By sixth period and Contemporary Issues we were four very uptight students. Scooter had an inside tract with the Attendance Clerk and took off for her office as soon as Issues class finished. He met us in the parking lot after school and told us Shawn was not in school and there was no answer when the automatic machine had called his house. That helped our worrying, NOT.
"You know where he lives?" Antwone asked.
Keith and I both shook our heads, then Keith said, "Why don't we do what we told Shawn? Why don't we go to the police--well, one policeman?"
"You guys trust the police? You must not live in East Point," Scooter said.
"We don't. We live in College Park and we trust the police, but especially one gay policeman."
"What are we waiting for?" Scooter asked.
"Follow us," I said as I climbed into Keith's truck.
As soon as we were under way, I got the cell phone out of the glove compartment and dialed Joe's number. The machine answered. I then asked Keith if he remembered the police station's number and he reminded me it was in the phone's memory.
I dialed the station, identified myself and asked for Joe. The dispatcher responded, "Hi, Tom. How you doin'?"
"Fine, Ellen, but worried about a friend of mine. Joe around the station?"
"Afraid not. He went out on an emergency about 10:00 and is still wrapped up in it. You at home?"
"No, I'm on Keith's cell." I gave her the number when she asked and told her we were heading to my place to wait for Joe's call.
When I told Keith Joe was answering an emergency call he had taken about noon, Keith responded, "Why do I have a feeling that may involve Shawn."
I got a sinking feeling in my stomach.
Author's note: The Mail Crew and Young Gay America are real and were located by the process described in the story (although I have known about The Mail Crew for some time now.)
Go to The Mail Crew site (http://www.themailcrew.com/) and see what one high school group has accomplished. They give "how-to" advise for high schoolers interested in starting a similar program.
Young Gay America's site is found at http://www.younggayamerica.com/ and In the Closet stories are found on that site at http://www.younggayamerica.com/inthecloset.shtml.