I walked to Louie’s and knocked on the back door. A clerk cracked the door open, and I handed him a ten. He returned a few minutes later and handed me a paper bag with two bottles of cheap wine.
As I headed home, a cruiser drove slowly down the street. I ducked into an alley. It was past curfew; and since I was underage, I didn’t want them picking me up and taking me home to my parents. My old man would probably tell them to keep me.
The house was locked when I returned. I went around to the side of the garage and relieved myself. Once back inside, I lay on the bed in the corner of the garage and pulled the cover over me.
I feel a pity party approaching. I can’t control them. They consume me when they hit. Even the wine and the weed I got earlier from Ticker aren’t helping. I get this sensation that I’m falling, and it frightens me. I close my eyes and it’s always the same. I’m standing on the railings of a bridge with my arms out, and I can see myself jumping. I can feel the wind blowing in my face as my body drops towards the ground.
It is like one of those shows where people are parachuting out of a plane, and they have their arms open as they soar through the air just before pulling on the rip cord. However, I don’t have a rip cord. My breathing quickens, and I close my eyes and tremble before my body splatters on the ground. But I never hit. I just keep falling and falling, waiting for something to happen. However, it never does.
That’s my life. I’m falling and falling, waiting for the end to hit me, but it never does. It’s a nightmare knowing that someday I will hit the bottom- hard. I don’t know when, or where. However, one thing is sure- I will.
I can’t lie here like this. My mind is swirling from the wine and the weed, but it hasn’t dulled my senses enough to sleep. It’s two in the morning, and I have to get up and go to school in a few hours. Why do I care? Why does anyone care?
I’m cold. I like being cold, though. It clears my head as I walk around the streets. A few guys have tried to pick me up, but I’ve ignored them. Why are these guys driving around so late at night trying to find someone? I’d feel sorry for them, but I have my own problems.
It just dawned on me. They’re just as messed up as I am. They’re out driving around lonely and depressed. The night brings out people like us; people who are too afraid of going to sleep because of our nightmares. So we are searching. For what? Who knows? We just hope that something will come along and end the nightmares.
*******
“You look terrible.” Ticker walked up and threw his arm around my shoulder. “More nightmares?”
“Yeah,” I responded. Ticker knows that I have trouble sleeping. That’s why he is always generous when he gives me bags of weed. I never told him the nature of sleeplessness, but I think he has figured it out long ago.
As we walked down the hall, two guys bumped roughly into me. I recognized them as two of Gene Albright’s friends. In fact, they had been the guys who had tried to get him to fight me the day before.
“Watch it, Fag,” spat one as he shoved me again, only this time with his hand. Ticker squeezed my shoulder tightly and tried to pull me away.
“Drop dead!” I turned and hissed loudly. He stopped and faced me.
“You’re going to get yours someday, Fag.” We stared at one another. Students around us stopped getting books from their lockers and watched us. Again, they could sense a fight.
“What’s your boyfriend going to do?” I replied sarcastically, looking at the guy standing to his right. He clinched his fist, and I could tell he wanted to hit me.
“Not here,” the other said, "but soon.” He grabbed his friend by the arm and they walked away. The warning bell for first period rang and students began to scatter.
“You all right?” Ticker asked. I looked at him and saw a worried look on his face.
“Yeah, I’m all right," I replied sadly. I removed his hand from my back and headed off slowly down the hallway.
“Screw it.” I headed toward the exit.
Tears! I’ve got tears in my eyes. I don’t cry anymore. Never! But right now tears are running down my face.
I don’t even know where I’m going. I’m just walking. I feel like running, but my legs won’t let me. I want to scream- and run. I want to run and scream down the street until my body collapses on the sidewalk. But my body won’t run.
“Hey, Kid?” I look over and see a man who picked me up last week. “You looking for some action?”
“Screw you!” I scream, and then I run down the street. My body is finally moving. It’s like I’m running in slow motion. People on the street stop and move out of my way before I plow into them.
“Crazy kids!” I hear one old woman say as I go running past her.
I must have run for miles. I don’t know. It was probably just a few blocks. I look down and see the river flowing by. There are a few ducks bobbing up and down in the water. They are struggling to get over the next wave that carries them along.
I lean over the railing of the bridge, gasping for air. I look down and can see my body falling, as in my nightmares. Only this time, it is real. I can do this. The moment has come that I’ve been waiting for all my life. It has built up and and now it’s time for the fall.
“Go ahead.” I blink the tears quickly from my eyes, as I realize someone has approached me and is standing several feet away. I look over and see a guy, probably in his 20’s, looking at me.
“What?” I asked angrily. His presence has interrupted my fate. The mood has quickly left, and now I’m consumed with anger.
“Jump,” he challenges me. “Go for it.”
“Screw you,” I shout and begin to walk away.
“Do it!” he screams. “Do it!”
“Do it.” He begins to cry and then his body collapses against the bridge wall. I watch as he sinks down and grabs his legs and pulls himself into a ball and weeps. “Do it.” He mutters through his tears.
I watch as his body is wracked with anguish. He is shaking uncontrollably and is sobbing violently. I stand in amazement and watch the crumbled guy before me.
I walk over to him and kneel beside him. I don’t know what to do. He is a stranger who just a minute earlier wanted to see me jump to my death.
“Why wouldn’t you do it?” He cries as he looks up pleadingly into my face.
“Why?” I ask.
“If you do it,” he sobs, “then maybe I’ll get the nerve to do it too.” Once again, his body shakes with emotion. “I come here every day, and I can’t bring myself to do it.”
Suddenly, I begin crying. I wrap my arm around his shoulder and pull him into my chest. He is so thin. I can feel his shoulder blades against my hand.
We sat for about ten minutes without speaking. Suddenly, he stands. Before I realize what is happening, he grabs the rail and begins pulling himself up onto it.
“No!” I scream. I reach out and grab his thin body. We fall to the ground. I am pressing my body into his, trying to keep him from getting up again.
“Let me do it!” He screams and thrusts his body under me. “I want to die!”
I lean in and press my face against his. I whisper in his ear, “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right.” Both of us are crying uncontrollably. I can feel his frail body trying to get up, but he is too weak to exert much force. After a few minutes, his body collapses under mine. We both are exhausted.
“Let me up, please,” he insists after we have lain for several minutes.
“No,” I whisper weakly.
“I’m all right now,” he replies. “Please let me up. I can’t breathe with your body on me.”
I raise my body off his, but I keep a hand on his thin arm. For the first time I get a good look at his face. It is thin and gaunt. He looks like he was a handsome boy at one time. I didn’t know what had taken away his health, but I was sure it was the reason he wanted to die.
Because of his frail appearance, it was hard to tell exactly how old he was. He could have been sixteen or twenty-six. I really couldn’t tell. He had brown hair and sunken brown eyes. It appeared he hadn’t slept for weeks.
We sat up and rested our bodies against the wall of the bridge. Cars passed by us and slowed down. A few even stopped and asked if we were all right. I’d nod and motion for them to drive away.
“Thanks,” he says. He starts to get up, “I gotta go.”
“Wait.” I grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. “You can’t just leave.”
“Why?” he asks. “Why do you care?”
I didn’t have an answer. Both of us had come to the bridge, each for his own reason. Both of us wanted to end our lives. I felt a closeness with this frail guy that I’d never experienced with anyone else. We had both shared our miserable lives with each other. I couldn’t let him leave without at least finding out his story.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I just do.” He looked into my eyes. They seemed blank and emotionless.
“Well, don’t,” he said flatly. He stood and brushed himself off. He gave me a final look and then turned and started walking away.
“Hold up!” I shouted as I sprang to my feet. I followed closely behind him. He turned and looked at me several times but continued to slowly walk away. I looked at his thin body. His tee shirt was draped over his shoulders, and he kept pulling his pants up on his small waist.
When we crossed the bridge, he headed south. I continued to trail about six feet behind him. I wasn’t going to let him just disappear from my life. I needed to know what had just happened out on that lonely bridge. What had brought us together?
We walked a few blocks, and then he entered a small café. He approached the counter and ordered a small coffee. He then turned to me.
“You want something?” he asked. “Since I can’t get rid of you, you might as well join me.” For the first time since meeting him, I saw a slight smile on his face.
“A coke,” I answered. I reached into my pocket to take out a dollar, but he stopped me.
“My treat,” he said. The waitress handed us our drinks, and I followed him to a table at the back of the café. Since it was late in the morning, we were the only ones there.
We sat for a moment in silence. Occasionally, he’d glance at me, but he mostly stared at the steam rising from his cup. “My name is Allen. Allen Foster.” He extended his frail hand across the table and shook mine. His grip was weak. I thought for a second that I might break his hand when I grabbed it.
“I’m Joey Carpenter,” I replied. Again, he stared into my eyes. I could see the sadness he hid behind the sunken brown eyes.
You don’t go through what I’ve been through and not be able to recognize it in others. I didn’t know his story yet, but I could tell he had been though a similar pain and suffering I’d been through. By the looks of his body, I was sure he’d suffered much more physical pain than I had.
We sat again for several moments in awkward silence. My mind was racing to find out his story, but I didn’t know how to go about asking. Finally, I decided that if I was going to find out anything, I’d have to make it fast. His coffee had almost disappeared from his cup.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why, what?” He looked at me. He knew what I was asking, but he was either trying to be coy, or he didn’t want to talk about it.
“Never mind,” I said dejectedly. I felt it was none of my business why he wanted to jump from the bridge. Besides, I didn’t want to tell him my reason, either. We sat for several minutes before he finally spoke.
“I’m sick,” he whispered softly.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m just sick,” he stated. There were several more awkward moments before he spoke again. “What’s your story?”
“My life is a mess.” I looked at him and laughed nervously.
“Enough to die?” He stared intently at me for an answer.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“I have to go.” He stood and looked down at me. “Thanks for being there today.”
“You too,” I smiled up at him. “Thanks.” He started to walk away. I jumped up and ran to catch up with him as he headed down the sidewalk.
“Can I see you again?”
“Why?”
“I just want to see you again. That’s all.”
“I’m here every morning,” he said. “Before I head for the bridge.” He nodded and walked away. I felt tears well up in my eyes as I watched him slowly disappear down the street.
After the affair at the bridge, I was exhausted. I had been physically and emotionally drained. On the walk home, I couldn’t get Allen’s sad countenance out of my mind. It had been years since I felt anything for anyone. I’m not sure I’d ever felt emotionally for anyone, but Allen had touched me like no one before.
He had penetrated my soul, and it was an unsettling feeling. In the hour we had spent with each other, I felt a connection. Maybe it was because I felt we shared an unhappy past.
“I’m sick.” Those words haunted me. Not the words, but the way he said it. It was as if he said it with a sense of doom. My life is messed up, but at least I know I have another tomorrow to make it through. I’m not sure Allen can say the same.
And if he is sick enough to die, then why didn’t he just wait and let it come to him? Why does he go every morning to the bridge, hoping to muster up enough courage to jump? I’m pretty sure that I had no intention of jumping today. I just wanted to see what it felt like. You know, since I’ve been there in my dreams so often. I wanted to experience the sensation of actual height. But would I have jumped?
The thing that unnerves me is I can’t answer with certainty that I would not want to jump. I don’t have much of a future. Maybe I’m like Allen, just waiting for the guts to take that final plunge, ending this madness. If I did, who would really care anyway?
My folks would be upset because they would have to deal with burying me. That could be one reason to do it. I’d like to see the look on his face when he gets the bill. That would serve him right. He’s never spent a dime on me for the past several years anyway. It would be a payback, and you know what they say about that.
I go home, after stopping by Louie’s and getting a couple bottles of happy juice. I’m out of weed, so I’ll just have to drink myself to sleep. It’s cold tonight. This thin blanket I bought for a quarter at the thrift shop isn’t keeping me warm at all.
And Allen. I can’t get his gaunt face out of my mind. He just had to creep into my life. Now I want to know his story. No, I have to know his story. It’s just what I wanted was one more thing to think about; as if my life isn’t already messed up enough.
*******
“Can you tutor me after school today?” Star ran up and grabbed my hand on the way to first period. “We have a big paper due next week, and I could really, really, really use your help.” She looked at me and gave me a puppy dog frown.
Again, it was a surprise to other students to see me walking hand in hand with a girl. I think they would have been less shocked if it had been another guy. They would have expected that.
“Sure,” I said. She squeezed my hand tighter. “You don’t understand British poets?”
“I don’t understand American ones,” she laughed.
I turned and held both her hands and recited, “Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, pourest thy full heart in profuse strains of unpremeditated art.”
“Show off,” she giggled as she slapped me on my arm. “Who was that? Tennyson?”
“Ouch,” I muttered. “You do need help. That was Shelly. Mr. Vickers covered him yesterday.”
“A Spring Evening Churchyard?” She guessed timidly.
“Wrong,” I laughed. “To a Skylark. And it’s A Summer Evening Churchyard.”
“I told you I was failing,” she said sadly.
“How much of the paper do you have done?” We had the assignment for two weeks. I finished mine about three days after it was assigned. Most of it dealt with interpreting the meaning of the poems. I found it to be quite easy.
“I’ve tried to read three of them.” She looked up and smiled, but it quickly disappeared when she saw the stern look on my face.
“You’ve only read three?” I asked. “And did you do anything with them?”
“I threw the book across my bedroom,” she laughed. Suddenly, a frown appeared on her face, followed by a stream of tears. I took her in my arms and comforted her.
It seems strange, that for the second time in as many days, I was feeling a connection with another person. First, Allen; and now Star. And the connection wasn’t sexual or physical. Two people had come into my life, and I was sure it was not by pure coincidence.
“Meet me in the library after school,” I told her. “We’ll study there and get you caught up.”
“Thanks.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek. It was the first time someone had kissed me since I was about ten years old when my mother would kiss me as she put me to bed. I kissed her quickly on the cheek and hurried away before she could see the tears that were forming in my eyes.
After lunch, I was on my way to fifth period when I saw Billy Joe and Camilla walking my way. They approached and stopped me. Camilla instantly grabbed my arm and began rubbing it.
Billy Joe had a serious look on his face. “We gotta talk, Man.”
“What?” I asked as I pulled Camilla’s roving hand from my arm. Several students began whispering as they noticed her action. I laughed inwardly because I knew their image of me being the school faggot was being challenged.
“Word around school is that Gene Albright has it in for you,” he warned.
“Do you think?” I laughed. “He got ten days because of me.”
“I’m serious, Joey,” he warned. “He’s a real homophobe. You better watch out. He’s making a lot of threats. I was smoking last night with a guy who knows him pretty well. He’s out to get you. You’d better watch it.”
Billy Joe patted me on my back and walked away. Camilla rubbed my arm a final time before giving me a timid wave. She ran up to Billy Joe and wrapped her arm around his. If I had cared, I would have wondered just what kind of a relationship they had.
Star was waiting in the library after school. She was sitting toward the back, away from most of the other students. She had her literature book open, and she was chewing on her fingernails. She looked up and smiled at me when she saw me approach.
I sat down, and we began to work in the areas where she was having trouble. Unfortunately, it was the entire book of English literature.
“This is useless,” she sighed after about fifteen minutes. “It sounds like a foreign language to me. Are you sure this is written in English?”
“It is a little difficult,” I confessed. She grabbed her book and pointed to a passage.
“Nymph of the downward smile, and sidelong glance, In what diviner moments of the day art thou most lovely? Just what the hell does that mean?” She threw the book down on the desk, making a loud crash. The librarian looked over at us and gave us a look that only a librarian can make.
“That’s John Keats,” I said. “He’s admiring her beauty.”
“Why can’t he just say she’s pretty then?”
“Then it wouldn’t be great literature.”
“It wouldn’t be garbage.” Star slammed the book shut, earning us another of those librarian looks. This time it was accompanied by a shushing sound.
“I give up,” she moaned as she put her head on the desk.
“Star!”
We both jumped when we heard a shout. I looked up and saw the boy who had tried to get Gene Albright to fight me in the hall yesterday.
“I want to talk to you,” he insisted.
“Get lost, Barry.” Star gave the boy an irritated look.
“I said I want to talk to you,” he said more adamantly. “Now!”
“And I said get lost, Barry,” Star spat back. The librarian rose from her desk and headed our way.
“Is there a problem over here?” She stood challengingly in front of the guy who had intruded our study session.
“This boy is bothering us,” Star replied, emphasizing the word boy.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Young Man,” insisted the librarian.
“This ain’t over.” He pointed an angry finger at me before storming away. I couldn’t figure out why he had decided to come into the library after school and disturb us.
“Sorry about that,” Star said timidly.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“My brother, Barry.”
“What’s his problem?”
“He doesn’t want me associating with you,” she replied. “He’s Gene’s best friend. We live next door to Gene. He and Barry have been friends since like forever.”
“So your brother is a gay basher just like Gene?” I asked.
“Barry does whatever Gene tells him to do,” she replied. “If he told him to jump off the roof of the school, Barry would do it.”
I asked, “Have you heard anything about Gene wanting to do something to me?”
“I haven’t heard anything. Why?”
“Someone warned me that Gene was planning something.”
“I’ll keep my ears open,” she assured me. “If I hear anything I’ll let you know.”
“I don’t want to come between you and your brother,” I insisted.
“You won’t,” she answered sadly. “We haven’t been close in years.”
She gathered her books and put them in her book bag. “Thanks for helping me.”
“We didn’t get much accomplished today,” I reminded her.
“It’s still nice that you wanted to. Thanks.” She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and left the library. I looked around and noticed a few students watching me. I got up, flipped them off and walked away.