Snow Day

This story is about male/male relationships and contains graphic descriptions of sex.

You should not read this story if it is in any way illegal due to your age or residence.

This is a work of pure fiction. It mixes fictional characters and events with real people. However any real person mentioned in this work is purely an actor playing a part. This story in no way is meant to imply anything about the sexuality, personality, or behavior of the actual person.

Copyright 2005 Jason Calme. This story is the sole property of its author and may not be copied in whole or in part or posted on any website without the permission of the author.

Questions and commentary can be sent to: "JasonCalme@yahoo.com". My blog: http://jcalme.blogspot.com/

I've been waiting for someone to write a story about Howie Day, the singer/songwriter from Bangor Maine, but no one has. Does Howie have no other gay fans?!

Well, assuming there's at least one of you out there, this story is for you!

Snow Day - Chapter 1

If this were a movie it might start this way...

FADE IN:

An overcast sky with flakes of snow softly falling. The camera pans down to a row of snow covered trees.

CUT TO:

A snow covered, tree lined road. The snow is falling rapidly. There's a small snow bank on each side of the road, and while the road itself is still reasonably clear, the snow is starting to accumulate. A green Honda CRV zooms on screen and continues down the road.

CUT TO:

The interior of the car. The driver, SAM, about 19, wears a heavy coat, knit cap, gloves, and appears to be a bit chilled. He's watching the road very carefully.

Looking out of the windscreen we see a black SUV parked on the side of the road, the hood up, a figure standing at the front of the car.

CUT TO:

The side of the road. We can't really see who the person by the car is, but they look up when they hear the car and step out onto the road, waving their arms.

CUT TO:

The interior of the car. SAM realizes the person is trying to wave him down.

SAM

Shit!

He slows down and lowers the passenger side window.

STRANGER

Hey!

SAM

"What's the problem?"

STRANGER

I dunno. It broke down and I can't

get it going, and my cell phone doesn't

work here.

Okay, wait. It's heavy going reading a script, isn't it? And as much as the film student inside me would love to do this as a script, this isn't a movie, it's a story. Movies are visual; you can't write about what characters think, you have to do it by showing. In a story you paint pictures with words and can describe characters thoughts. With a script you get the worst of both worlds; no visuals, and no exposition.

So, even though I'm tempted to write a script, I'm going to write the rest of this as a story. I promise. So here goes.

It was late March 2001 and my hopes for an early spring had been rudely dashed. Damn, it was cold! I had on a heavy coat, gloves, and the heat cranked up and I was still freezing. I just wanted to get home, but home was half an hour away and the snow was getting heavier. To top it all off, the heater in my car was barely working. The guy at the garage had said there was air in the system or something. It wasn't really a problem for the car; it just meant little heat for me. I had decided to wait to get it fixed, but now I wished I hadn't.

The snow was picking up, and I was getting nervous. I needed to get off this back road and get on a road with more traffic and a few ploughs.

I was about five miles from the highway when I came around a corner and saw, about five hundred yards ahead of me, an SUV on the side of the road with the hood up. I could see a figure standing in front of the car, and I wondered if he was stranded, or just topping up the coolant or something. Maybe he was low on windscreen washer fluid. I just hoped he didn't need help because I really didn't want to stop and give it to him. Firstly, I know nothing about cars, and secondly, it's not a good idea to stop for strangers; particularly on lonely backcountry roads.

'Shit!' I sighed. The guy was stepping out from behind the car and waving his arms at me.

For a second I thought about just ignoring him; you know, acting like I didn't see the guy. But then I felt guilty, so I slowed down, pushed the lock to lock the doors, and then pushed the button to lower the passenger window just a few inches.

I stopped and the guy came over and leaned down to the opening in the window.

"Hey!" he said.

The large hood of his coat obscured most of his face, but he looked young - about my age - and he looked a little pale.

"What's the problem?" I yelled across the seat and through the window at him.

"I dunno," he shrugged. "It broke down and I can't get it going, and my cell phone doesn't work here."

"Oh," I said.

"Is there a town around here?" he asked. "Somewhere I can get the car fixed?"

"Uh, I don't know what's around here. I think maybe down the next exit, about fifteen, twenty minutes away," I offered.

"Oh."

He stood there, obviously unsure what to do. I didn't know what to do either, but I could see that the snow was picking up.

"You better get in," I finally said. "I can take you down to...well I'll take you somewhere."

"Yeah? That'd be great...thanks. Thanks very much," he said, and he smiled.

I reached over and unlocked the door, but he didn't open it.

"I gotta get my stuff," he said, turning and walking back to his car.

"Okay," I called after him.

He lowered the cars hood, then he went to the back and opened the hatch and started taking out some bags and I realized he was intending to bring quite a bit of stuff with him. I put the car in park and hopped out.

When I got over to him he was pulling out the second of two guitar cases.

"You've got a lot of stuff," I said, looking at those and the other bags in the back of the car.

"Yeah, do you...you think it'll all fit?" he asked me.

I looked back at my little RAV 4 and compared it to the Ford Explorer, and wondered if it would fit, but I nodded anyway.

"Sure," I said. "What is all this?"

The guy stopped for a second. "My guitars, clothes, stuff," he said rather unhelpfully.

I nearly said something, but then I wondered if the guy was homeless and lived out of his car.

"I'm a musician," the guy then added.

"Oh."

"On the road, this is kind of everything I need, you know." He stopped for a Moment and brushed some snow off one of the bags. "I'm supposed to be playing in Boston tonight, but I've been trying to call them and the phone just won't work."

"Well, you can call from town," I suggested. "Or maybe the phone will work further down the road."

"Yeah." he paused. "I'm Howie," he said, and put his hand out.

"Sam," I said. I shook his hand quickly, and realized he was shaking a little. I wondered how long he'd been stranded.

"Come on," I said, and I helped him carry his stuff over to my car. It took me a Moment to lower the back seats and tidy up things and then we loaded up the RAV4. Howie locked his car and we were off.

The snow was heavier now, and I was relieved when we got onto the highway. It was only a little better than the back road, but at least now I was moving with other traffic.

Hopefully I'd get home.

Now I was wondering where to drop the guy. There were a couple of exits before home, but I didn't really know the towns and didn't want to spend half an hour driving around to find some place for him to stay. Forget about finding a place to get his car fixed.

Glancing over at my passenger, I saw that he was shivering.

"You okay?" I asked.

He turned and nodded. "Just cold," he chattered. "Does the heat go any higher?"

"Sorry, it's not working too well," I apologized, and now I started to worry. He didn't look good; he was pale, shaking, and he looked kind of out of it. In his condition I wasn't sure I could just drop him off at some motel; not and feel good about it.

After a couple of minutes fretting about what to do, and seeing that the snow was just getting heavier, I made a decision.

"Hey, how about you come back home with me?" I asked. "You can warm up and call whoever you need to."

"That's not too much trouble?" he asked, his jaw shaking badly.

"No trouble," I said, accelerating down the highway.

We made it back to the house in pretty good time considering the weather and road conditions, but my passenger seemed to be getting worse every minute. His shaking - even though he had his arms wrapped tightly around his chest - was becoming disturbing.

I stopped close to the door, and jumped out and ran around to the passenger door to help him out. He literally tumbled out, and I had to grab hold of him to keep him up.

"Come on," I said.

"My stuff," he gasped.

"We'll get that later," and I half carried, half dragged him to the front door, pushing the doorbell and hoping Mom was home as I opened the door and helped him inside. My mother came walking out of her office, a curious expression on her face.

"I found him stranded on the side of the road," I said by way of explanation. "He's really cold."

My Mom came up and looked the guy in the face, and felt his forehead. Damn! I couldn't remember his name, I realized.

"I'm going to go fill the bathtub," she said to me. "Get his wet clothes off and bring him up to the bathroom."

"Okay," I said.

My Mom ran upstairs, while I turned to the stranger and looked him over again. He didn't look good. He was pale, his teeth chattering so bad his jaw was almost flapping. I realized that his clothes - the jacket and the jeans - were soaking wet too. Probably while he was running around he'd maintained some warmth, but once he'd sat down and stopped moving, things had gotten worse for him. I kicked myself for not even thinking about this.

"You gotta get these wet things off," I said to him, but he just stood there. I heard the bath running and my Mom came down the stairs with a comforter and put it on the bench.

"Put this on him," she said, so I went to pick it up.

"When you get the wet things off him," she added.

"Oh," I said, turning back to the guy, who hadn't made any move to undress.

"Hey, man," I said. "You gotta take these clothes off." I stood there waiting for him to do it.

"Sam," my Mom said. "You're going to have to help him."

"Me?" I said, turning to question my mother, who had already turned and was disappearing back up the stairs.

"Fuck!" I hissed under my breath and turned back to the stranger.

I stepped towards him. He seemed to be trying to undo his coat, but his hands were shaking so badly he wasn't making any progress.

"Here," I said. "Let me," and I quickly unsnapped the buttons, unzipped the coat and pulled it off him and threw it on the floor. Underneath he had on a black hoodie, which looked wet, and I unzipped it and pulled that off too, leaving him in a green t-shirt. The t-shirt looked a little damp too, but I decided to leave that where it was.

The stranger was starting to shake more violently, and I grabbed the comforter and put it over his shoulders, then I took a deep breath and crouched down and unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans.

Probably if things had been different - okay, definitely if things were different - this would have had more of an effect on me. But given the situation, I didn't really have time to absorb it all. I was just trying to help him.

With the fly undone, I grabbed the jeans and yanked them down, barely registering the checkered boxers underneath. Then I realized he still had his boots on.

Damn!

"Eh, you better sit done," I said, turning him around and walking him over to the bench, which was a little difficult given his pants were around his knees. He almost fell against the wall, but I got him turned around and seated. Then I got his boots off, and pulled off his pants. Why couldn't this kind of thing happen to me more often I wondered?

But there was no time to enjoy it; he looked pretty bad, so I pulled him up to his feet and wrapped the comforter tightly around him. He was still shaking and without really thinking I put my arms around him and hugged him to me tightly. I'd read somewhere about transferring body heat and how you should both strip down, but I wasn't going to do that now.

"It's about ready!" I heard my Mom call, so I disentangled myself from the guy, and started to lead him up the stairs.

"I'm so cold," he barely gasped, as we went up.

"You'll be okay," I tried to reassure him, while hoping that I was right.

He stumbled at the top of the stairs, but I caught him, and I walked the rest of the way with one arm around him and the other holding his arm. I nearly knocked him out on the doorway - well, banged his shoulder really - before maneuvering him into the bathroom, where my Mom was standing waiting for us. The water was still running, but the tub was almost full.

"Okay, you get him in, and stay with him," Mom said. "You might have to hold on to him," she added cryptically, then she walked towards the door. "I'm going to go and make some hot chocolate, and get a bed ready...I think I might put him in your room."

"My room?" I complained.

She stopped in the doorway. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," I moaned.

She stared at me for a Moment, looking thoughtful. But then she just said, "Hurry up and help him into the tub."

As much as I'd like to, I wasn't too happy with the idea.

"Couldn't you do it and I'll go make the chocolate?" I offered.

My mother gave me a look like I was being stupid. "I think he'll be more comfortable if you help him," she said, and turned and left.

I rather doubted that. He wouldn't be comfortable with me helping him - if he knew more about me - but it was too late now. I turned and saw the guy was just standing there shaking.

"Come on man," I said, kicking myself that I still couldn't remember his name.

I pulled off the comforter and the t-shirt, but left the boxers on. I then lead him to the tub. He slowly stepped in and then I kind of hovered as he crouched down and sat into the water. The shaking become more violent, and I literally put my arms around him and hugged him tight for a second as I lowered him in. Thankfully, the shaking subsided as quickly as it had started, and the color started to come back to his body.

I was so engrossed in holding him in the water, and he'd been so out of it, that I hadn't really paid attention to him until I looked up and found myself staring into his eyes. His very wide-awake eyes that were just inches from mine.

I stared into them all too long before I realized quite what was going on and I pulled back in surprise.

"Are you...how are you?" I squeaked out.

"Ah...bit better," he whispered.

I nodded. "Well, stay in for a few minutes more," I said, recovering my composure.

The door opened and my Mom came in.

"How is he?" she asked.

"Ahh...I think better,"

My Mom stared at him, and I looked at him too, relieved now that I'd left his underwear on and provided him with some modesty.

"How are you feeling?" my mother addressed him.

"Uh...better thanks," said the guy, who had casually moved one of his hands over his groin.

My mother just stood there, and I don't know what the guy thought, but I was starting to feel embarrassed myself, and I wasn't sitting there in just my shorts. And then she turned to me as though the guy wasn't even there.

"Okay, you should get him out in a couple of minutes, get him dried off. I'll go find him some clothes, you bring him into your room."

"I think he has clothes in his bags in my car," I offered, but my Mom disappeared towards my bedroom and I wondered if she didn't hear me, or was ignoring what I said.

I turned back to the guy, prepared to give him the universal 'sorry my Mom is so weird' eye-roll, and discovered he was lying there with his eyes closed. Well, he was breathing calmly, and his color was looking pretty good. Actually, he was looking pretty good all around.

He had a large, cherub-like face and dark brown hair that was clumped up and pointing off in all directions. The rest of his body, though not body-builder perfect, looked damn good to me.

But I couldn't stand there all day admiring him; could I? As much as I wanted to, the last thing I needed was for him to open his eyes and catch me perving on him.

I realized that I should keep tabs on the water and make sure it wasn't getting too cold, so I carefully stepped over to the end of the tub, crouched down, and stuck my finger in the water. I was down by his feet, so I figured it was safe if he opened his eyes again. It was still warm, but cooling off, and I realized that either I should add more hot water or get him out.

I glanced up and saw that his eyes were half open.

"Uh, hey," I said.

His eyes opened a little more and focused on me.

"You should get out," I said.

"Okay," he nodded, and started to get up. I stood up too and went and grabbed some towels and brought them over to him, wrapping one around his shoulders, and offering the other to him to wrap around his waist.

"Okay?" I asked him.

"Yeah, I'm good," he said.

"Come on," I said, and I lead him out and down to my bedroom. I found my Mom waiting there with the bed pulled down, an extra comforter, a cup of hot chocolate, and some sweat pants and a top of mine.

I was still a little put out that Mom had put him in my room. Why not down in the guest room was what I wanted to know? But then I remembered how cold that room could be.

But was Mom thinking I was going to sleep with him?

My Mom smiled at him as he came in. "How are you doing, ah..."

"Howie," the guy said, and of course as he said it I remembered his name.

"Well, there's some of Sam's clothes that should fit you and hot chocolate."

"I have my...my bags are..."

"Sam will get those later, I want you to get into bed now and get some rest for a bit. Make sure you're okay," she said.

"I'm okay," he smiled at my Mom, a charming smile and my heart melted, but my Mom seemed immune.

"Well that's good, but you should get some rest, so get yourself changed and get into bed," she said, making it clear there would be no argument.

"Uhh..."

"Is there anything else you need?" my Mom asked.

"Uh...I don't think so."

"Well Sam will get you anything," she turned to me. "Sam, let him rest," and then she smiled at Howie and walked out, leaving us standing there.

I looked at him nervously. It was kind of embarrassing my Mom telling him what to do; it wasn't like he was a ten- year old kid or anything.

He looked at me and gave me a half smile and I smiled embarrassedly back at him.

"Uh...you can...uh," and I realized that telling him he didn't have to do what my Mom told him to do was kind of treating him the same way as my mother was. Whatever he decided to do was up to him.

"I'll ahhh...let you get changed," I said, and started to walk out.

"Yeah, ahh..thanks uhh..."

"Sam," I said, stopping to turn and face him.

"Sam," he repeated, and he held out his hand, a friendly smile on his face. I took the offered hand and shook it for the second time that day, this time without gloves, and then I stepped outside the room, pulling the door closed behind me.

I stood there nervously for a moment, wondering what to do. Would he quickly change and I could go back in and talk to him, or would he change and just climb into bed? Feeling rather foolish just standing there, I ran downstairs to see what my Mom was doing.

"Is he okay?" she asked as I walked into the kitchen. She was busy mixing something; it looked like she was making cookies. Cool! It's always good to have company over; you get much better food!

"I think he's fine now," I said. "I don't think he needs to be in bed."

My Mom looked up from the bowl and frowned. "Well, I just want to be sure. That can be a real shock to the system so it's best he rests for a while. I want you to make sure he rests."

"Me?"

"Yes, you're his age. Make sure he feels comfortable."

"Jeez, I just picked him up, it's not like we're responsible..."

"While he's here we are responsible," my Mom said firmly, and went back to stirring the bowl.

I didn't like this whole business. I did the good deed by stopping and helping, and I felt uncomfortable that somehow I was still responsible for him. On top of that, I didn't like that my mother seemed to be mothering him, which was just plain embarrassing.

But the kicker was, he was kind of good looking and I'd be lying if I wasn't attracted to him. Okay, so maybe it wouldn't turn out to be a love interest, but what about being friends?

"He's not a kid," I finally said.

"No, but he's not well..."

"He's fine," I snapped.

My mother gave me a look.

"Why didn't you put him in the guest room?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Because it's cold and further away from us."

"You could have put him in Abby's room."

My Mom ignored me.

"Where am I going to sleep?" I persisted.

"Where do you want to?" she asked mischievously.

I sighed. My mother always had a weird sense of humor.

I'd known I was gay since I was about fifteen, but I never told anyone until I came out to my mother a few months before graduating high school. All things considered, she took it pretty well. Maybe it was because I was the youngest of three; my older sister is in college, and my brother graduated a couple of years ago and is living in Seattle. Being the extra boy, I'm kind of the spare, so my Mom has always been a lot more easy-going about me. Maybe I'm selling her short; I hope she'd have been just as understanding if I were her only son.

So yeah, my Mom was pretty good about it; as were the few friends and other family members I'd told so far. I haven't told my Dad, but then he and my Mom split a few years back and he moved out of state and I only see him now and again.

But my Mom's sick sense of humor did sometimes throw me for a loop. She never did anything to embarrass me in public, or even in front of other people, but she'd do things like say 'Hey, that guy's cute, don't you think' when we were in the mall.

Sometimes it was funny. Sometimes it was plain embarrassing. My Mom was always doing things to try and 'bring me out of my shell' as she put it. I'd die if she did anything now.

"I thought you could use a sleeping bag and keep him company," my mother said.

I rolled my eyes.

"Well, let's see how he's feeling later. If he's okay, maybe you can banish him to the guest room."

"Huh," I snorted.

Well I was getting nowhere fast with this conversation, so I decided to do something else. I went out to my car and carried in Howie's bags and his guitar cases. When I got them in my Mom came over and looked over his bags. She went to unzip his bag and I cleared my throat.

"What?" she asked.

"You can't go through his bags," I hissed.

She stopped. "I was just going to..." she paused, then seemed to think better of it. "I guess you're right. Why don't you take those two up to him, they look like clothes?"

"Okay," I said.

When I got up to my bedroom the door was still closed. I hesitated, and then lightly knocked on the door. I waited a moment, and then opened the door slowly. I was surprised to find our guest in bed, fast asleep.

I went over to check him, afraid maybe he'd died or something, but he looked peaceful, his breathing calm and easy.

The hot chocolate was drunk, and he was wearing my sweats; or at least the top. I stared at his face for a long while. He really was handsome.

No, I decided, he was beautiful.

With nothing better to do, I went back down stairs.

"He's asleep," I said to my Mom. She nodded.

"That's probably for the best."

"He wanted to call some people though. Do you think I should wake him?"

She frowned. "Let's let him sleep for a bit, then maybe wake him up before dinner if he hasn't already."

"Okay," I nodded, and went to the refrigerator to get a drink.

"So what do you think of him?"

"Dunno," I shrugged, staring into the fridge and trying to act casual.

"Kind of cute, don't you think?"

"He's okay," I said noncommittally.

My mother just smiled, but I decided not to take the bait. Instead I grabbed a can of soda and walked out into the living room and stretched out on the couch.

The next two hours were some of the slowest I've ever endured. There was nothing good on television, and I had nothing to read. I so wanted to go and check on our visitor, but I didn't want to wake him, and I didn't want my mother to think I wanted to keep looking at him; even if I did. And everything I thought of doing seemed to require something that was in my bedroom, so I was stuck.

My Mom spent most of the afternoon working in her office. She's a real estate agent, though she really runs the real estate agency that my grandfather founded. She's often out at odd hours, and she uses the downstairs bedroom that used to be my brothers as her office away from the office.

After a couple of hours she finally went to the kitchen to start on dinner. I was getting antsy. I really wanted to go upstairs, but I waited. Finally Mom had dinner ready and suggested I go and check on our guest.

I rather eagerly trotted up the stairs and into my bedroom and found him still fast asleep. I walked up tentatively beside him, trying to decide whether - and how - to wake him, when his eyes fluttered open.

"Hi," I said softly.

"Hi," he grunted.

"Dinners almost ready. Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, I think so," he mumbled.

"Cool," I said, and realized I was standing there grinning like an idiot. "Oh, you said you had to call someone."

"Oh, shit," he exclaimed, and started to sit up.

"You can use our phone," I offered.

"Okay, thanks," he said, and stretched and yawned.

"Come down stairs when you're ready, there's a phone in Mom's bedroom, two doors down that away," and I pointed. "Then come on downstairs," and I pointed in the other direction.

"Okay, thanks, uh Sam," he said.

"You're welcome...Howie," and I nodded and walked out the room.

I hurried back down the stairs and told Mom that he was up. A few minutes later I heard some steps on the stairs and turned to see him trotting down, still dressed in my sweats and looking very...well really very good. He still looked kind of sleepy, and his hair was such a mess, but he was rather dreamy looking really. And the sweat pants were just a fraction too tight on him. He's a little more solid than I am, and I'm a little taller than he is. I had to tear my eyes off the front of the pants, which bulged kind of nicely.

He smiled at me as he strode into the kitchen.

"Okay?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Well the weather in Boston sucks too, so the concert had already been cancelled."

"That's good then?" I asked.

He shrugged. "At least I didn't miss it," he said. "Now I just have to figure out what to do about my car."

"That'll have to wait until at least tomorrow," my mother said, coming into the kitchen. "How are you feeling Howie?"

"I'm fine thanks," he smiled. "Thanks so much for uh..." My Mom and I both said "You're welcome," and he grinned.

"I really appreciate what you've done for me. I don't want to be any more trouble. If there's a motel around I can..."

"Nonsense!" my Mom said. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like," she went on. "And besides, you're pretty much stranded here tonight thanks to the storm."

"Well, I just..."

"Don't worry about it. So are you hungry?"

"Yeah," he said rather loudly and enthusiastically, and then he grinned embarrassedly and my mother laughed. I smiled and he glanced at me, smiling nervously and then he seemed to look around the room not sure where to look.

"Sam, take Howie into the dining room and oh, get him something to drink."

"Okay," I said, then to Howie, "Come on."

He nodded, and followed me out to the dining room.

"Why don't you sit there," I said pointing to one of the places Mom had set. Now that it was just Mom and I most of the time, we usually ate in front of the TV. It was a special event to be eating in the dining room. Mom had set the table up simply, but nicely.

"So what would you like to drink? Coke, milk, juice, or water?"

"Uh, Coke, please," he said.

"Sure," I said.

I went back to the kitchen, got a couple of glasses and a couple of cans, and went back into the dining room. Howie was sitting at the table looking a little uncomfortable. I put a glass and can in front of him. He glanced up and smiled.

"Thanks," he said.

I went around to the other side of the table and sat down facing him. He grinned at me and then opened the can and poured it into the glass, and I did the same.

"Sam, thanks for..." he began.

I looked up at him and he froze for a second. "Uh, I just wanted to say thanks for, uh...saving my life."

I felt myself redden. "I didn't save your life," I demurred.

"I don't know, I was pretty bad there," he said.

"Someone would have been along and helped you. They might have even had a working heater," I joked.

He grinned and nodded. "I don't know if it would have made any difference," he said, "I was pretty frozen solid. It was really...if you hadn't brought me home..."

"It was nothing," I said, embarrassed.

"Here we are," said my Mom, walking in with two plates heaped with pasta and meatballs and setting them down in front of us. "I hope you're hungry Howie, and like pasta."

"Oh, I do," he said enthusiastically.

"Well, you two don't wait for me," my Mom said, disappearing back into the kitchen.

I reached for a bread roll and some butter and started to work on that as Howie set about the pasta and meatballs. He seemed to inhale it; I think his plate was half empty before my Mom came back in with her own meal. She sat down, glanced at Howie and then looked at me and smiled. I looked back at Howie, who had stopped with the fork half way to his mouth and suddenly seemed self-conscious that he was the only one actually eating.

"It's nice to have someone who enjoys food," my Mom said. "Sam always seems to pick at things."

"I do not!" I objected, and realized I'd been swirling the pasta around with my fork.

"I just...uh...didn't have lunch," Howie said, reddening slightly.

"Well, there's plenty more!" my Mom said. "Go on! Eat!"

Howie smiled and shoveled another forkful into his mouth.

"So we're supposed to get a lot more snow tonight," my Mom said.

"How much?" I asked.

"Not sure. I might go down to your aunts after dinner and make sure everything's okay there."

"Okay," I nodded. My aunt lived a few miles away, but she'd gone away on vacation and we were watching her house.

"So where are you from Howie?" my Mom asked him.

Howie chewed a couple of times and swallowed. "Bangor...Maine."

"Oh, what's that like?"

"Kind of like here," he said, "but colder," and he raised his eyebrows and my Mom laughed.

"But Sam said you were going to Boston?" my Mom asked.

"I was playing in Rochester last night," he answered.

"Playing?"

"Music."

"You're in a band?" my Mom asked.

"I play solo."

"What kind of music?"

"Uh..."

"Mom!" I interjected, "Don't interrogate him."

"I was interested!" my Mom answered lightly.

I rolled my eyes, and Howie grinned at me.

"I play...well I've written a lot of my own stuff but I also do covers of uh...U2, The Beatles..." and he went on and listed a couple of other acts, though more for my benefit than my Mom's I think, as he probably didn't think she'd know them.

"What U2 songs do you do?" my Mom asked. Look out Howie, my Mom is a fan.

"Uh...I do One," he said.

"I like that song," my Mom said.

I hoped she wouldn't ask him to sing it right there.

"So where do you go to school?" my Mom asked.

When she said that I noticed Howie flinch slightly. He looked up rather shyly.

"Ah, well, I decided I really wanted to do music, so instead of going to college I've been playing colleges," and he grinned at the joke and glanced at my Mom for her reaction.

"Oh," my Mom said, which was her 'oh, that sounds like a silly think to do' response. She'd never have come out and said it directly to him, but I knew immediately what she was thinking.

Howie looked embarrassed, and I felt for the guy. He didn't have to justify himself to us, even if we were giving him dinner and a place to stay.

"How'd you start playing?" I asked him, and Howie, seemingly relieved to have a softball question, talked briefly about learning the piano as a kid, switching to guitar, and his first show at his parents restaurant.

The conversation then drifted off in other directions. Thankfully, my Mom didn't continue the cross-examination, and after a little while Howie started to relax. He still came across as rather shy, which seemed odd for someone that wanted to be a performer, but he joined in our conversation about weather, movies and other things.

He cleaned the food off his plate long before my Mom or I had made a dent on ours.

"Would you like some more Howie?" my Mom asked.

"No, it's okay," he answered politely, though I got the feeling he said it because he didn't want my Mom to have to interrupt her meal.

"There's plenty," she continued.

"I'll get it," I offered, standing up.

"No, it's fine," Howie said, but I walked around and reached out for the plate.

"More of everything?" I asked him.

"Uh...well, okay," he grinned sheepishly.

I nodded, and took the plate into the kitchen and filled it up and took it back out to him.

"Thanks," he said.

"Leave room for dessert," my Mom said.

After we'd finished the main course, I got the dessert - ice cream and chocolate chip cookies - and then Howie helped me clear the dishes away and put things in the dish washer. We didn't really talk much; I didn't know what to say to him, and he was quiet, so we just worked away and then when we were done went into the living room and I turned on the TV.

Howie disappeared to go to the bathroom, as my Mom came in to tell me that she was going down to check on Aunt Jean's place.

"You sure that's a good idea?" I asked, looking out at the falling snow.

"It's not far," my mother said, in a tone that meant she wasn't going to be dissuaded.

At that point Howie came back in with a couple of CDs in his hand.

"Uh, this is my CD," he said shyly, holding one out to my Mom.

"Oh, thanks Howie," she said. "I'll listen to this when I get back; I'm just going down to check on my sisters house."

"Okay," Howie nodded.

My Mom said goodbye and went out the back door to the garage. I suddenly realized that we were alone, and I felt nervous.

Howie turned to me and held out the other CD. "This is for you."

"Thanks," I said, taking it from him. I stared at it for a moment. The cover was a black and white photo of some kind of fair ground or something, with what appeared to be his head in silhouette in the lower right hand corner. The title was 'Australia,' which seemed to have nothing to do with the photo. Was the photo taken in Australia? Was this the best photo he could find? I looked back up at him and tried to look grateful.

"I'll put it on," I said.

I looked back down at the CD, not really sure what I was getting myself into. Well, I'd said I'd put it on, so I suppose I better do it.

I grabbed the remote and muted the TV, then I went over and turned on the CD player and stuck the CD in. In my mind I was trying to think of some platitudes to offer while listening. I was really wondering what this was going to be like, and I was uncomfortable that he was going to be there as I listened. What if it sucked or I hated it totally? What was I supposed to do then? Was I going to have to listen through the whole thing, pretending to be interested and liking it, or could I pop it out after a couple of songs and suggest we watch a movie instead?

"You don't have to play it right now," Howie suddenly offered.

Was he wondering if I wouldn't like it?

"Nah, I want to hear a bit of it," I said, hitting the play button and figuring that by saying a bit I was only committing myself to half a song or two.

Techno-drum noises wafted out of the speakers and I felt uneasy, but then came Howie's voice, singing loudly and clearly, and he didn't sound too bad at all. The song began to grow and take shape and I realized I liked it. Or maybe I was shocked that it was as good as it was. I turned to Howie, a big smile on my face.

"This is good!" I said over the sound. Maybe I was a little too relieved.

He nodded, a big smile on his face.

We stood there for about half the song and then Howie stepped toward the machine.

"Well, hope you like the rest of it," he said, and I realized he was going to turn it off and I grabbed his arm.

He turned to face me.

"Leave it on," I said. "I want to hear the rest of it."

"Uh, you're sure?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, is it all this good?" I asked, which, after I said it, I realized was rather a blunt question to ask, but it just came out.

"Uh..."

"Man, this is great!" I said, trying to cover my faux pas.

"Thanks."

So we sat down, and the next song started and I liked it even better than the first. I was really bowled over. But how many times can you say "This is great!" and not start sounding like what you're really saying is 'Man, I thought you'd be hopeless and this isn't! I can't believe it!'

The other thing is; it's kind of hard to listen to a CD with someone else, because you can't really talk over it. You're both just sitting there and it starts to feel a little weird after a while.

Then the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Sam. The roads are much worse than I thought they would be," came my mother's voice.

I was tempted to say something smart, but I bit back the urge.

"I don't think I'll get back up the hill, so I'm going to stay here tonight. Will you two be okay?"

I glanced over at Howie, who gave me a questioning look.

"Yeah, we'll be fine," I said.

"Okay, well either I'll see you in the morning, or I'll call you. Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Goodnight."

"Night."

I hung up and then looked at Howie. "That was Mom. She says the roads are really bad and she's going to stay down at my aunts."

"Okay," said Howie, nodding, then he jumped up. "You want to watch a movie?" he asked.

"What?"

He gestured at the stack of movies by the VCR. "Watch a movie?" he repeated, and went over and switched off the CD.

"Hey, I was listening to that!"

"Well, you can listen another time. I've heard it before," he said, and grinned.

"Uh, well, okay," I said. "But I really liked it man," I added.

"Thanks."

"You're amazing."

Howie blushed. "Thanks."

"I'll have to get you to sign the CD!"

"Yeah, sure."

We stood there for a moment.

"So what do you want to watch?" I asked him.

He shrugged.

"I have the Matrix DVD," I offered.

"Okay," he nodded.

We watched the Matrix. Or I watched it and Howie fell asleep half way through it. When it was finally over I gently pushed his shoulder.

"Time to wake up so you can go to bed," I said to him.

He opened his eyes and looked disoriented for a minute, then he nodded and got up.

The thing was, going to bed made me nervous, particularly as I was alone with this guy...this cute guy. This really handsome, cute and probably straight guy.

We both stood up and I turned off the TV and the lights and Howie followed me up stairs to my bedroom. Howie followed me in and glanced around as though he hadn't been in the room before. Maybe he hadn't really been paying attention before.

"Hey!" he said, walking over to the corner and grabbing the guitar case, "You play guitar."

"Nah, it's my brother's, I don't really play."

"Not at all?" he asked, looking up at me.

"Uh...a few chords," I said. "Not much, I suck pretty bad."

Howie grinned at me and looked back at the guitar case. Then he looked up at me again.

"Okay if I look at it?" he asked.

"Sure, it's not much," I said.

Howie unlatched the case and opened it.

"Oh man!" he exclaimed.

"What?" I asked.

"Fuck, it's a D-28!"

"What? What's that?"

"You don't know what this is? It's a Martin D-28! It's a great guitar. This one is a bit beat up, but still in good shape."

He picked it up and strummed it and made a face.

"Oh, needs new strings. You haven't played it in a while."

"Nah," I shook my head as Howie started to tune the guitar.

"And it's your brothers?"

"Well it was my Dad's," I said.

"How old is it?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe twenty years old. Is it valuable?"

Howie shrugged. "Maybe fifteen hundred. I dunno really."

"Wow!" I said.

"Yeah," he nodded. He finally got it tuned to his satisfaction, and sat down on the end of the bed and started strumming it. I sat down in the chair by my desk and listened as he played something that sounded vaguely familiar. Howie started to sing something softly to himself, but then he looked up and saw I was watching and he grinned and stopped.

"Don't stop," I said.

"Nah, it's okay," he said, standing up awkwardly. "It's good," he said, holding up the guitar.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You should learn how to play it."

"Uh..."

"Or not," he smiled, and put the guitar back in the case, latched it up and put it back in the corner.

"So, I'm gonna wash up," I said.

"Okay." He glanced at the computer on my desk. "Are you connected to the Internet?" he asked.

"Yeah. It's really slow though,"

He shrugged. "Be okay if I checked email?"

"Uh, sure." I said. I turned on the computer and waited for it to start up, then I connected to the Internet and stood up. "There you go," I said.

"Thanks." said Howie.

I left him sitting at the computer and went to the bathroom to wash up. By the time I got back to the bedroom Howie was finished, the computer was shut off, and he was going through one of his bags looking for something.

Howie looked up.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," I answered, and went to the closet and pulled out my sleeping bag and set it out on the floor. I was flattening it out and I looked up and saw Howie watching me closely.

"Uh, you don't have to worry," I said. "You're sleeping on the bed," and I nodded towards my bed.

"No way! I'll sleep on the floor," Howie said.

I shook my head. "My Mom would kill me if I put you on the floor."

"Well, isn't there another bed?"

I nodded. "Yeah, but Mom said I'm to keep watch on you and make sure you're okay."

Howie frowned. "I'm fine Sam."

"I got my orders," I grinned.

"Oh, I'm sorry man."

"Don't worry," I said.

"Uh, well, sorry," he repeated. Then he stood up and went out to the bathroom.

By the time he was done I had got a pillow, found a comforter to use as a kind of mattress under the sleeping bag, and was already to zip up.

Howie entered quickly, grinned at me, dropped his clothes in a pile on the open bag, then went and climbed into bed.

"All okay?" I asked him.

"Yeah," he nodded.

I went over to the light and turned it off, then went back to the sleeping bag and climbed in and zipped up.

"Night Sam," came Howie's voice through the darkness.

"Goodnight Howie."

There was a moment's silence.

"Thanks for everything."

"You're welcome. G'night."

"Night."

I must have been tired. I was asleep just about as soon as my head hit the pillow.

----------------- to be continued.