Mystery Boy

Alan Dwight

alantfraserdwight@gmail.com

Pa and I carried our groceries out to the car. Pa opened the trunk and we put the bags in. Those days, in small New England towns, nobody locked their cars or even their houses. And we never had any problems with that.

Walking around to my side of the car, I happened to glance in the rear window and was startled.

I climbed in the front passenger seat, wondering about what I’d seen on the floor in the back seat.

Pa started the car and began to back out of our parking space.

“Pa,” I murmured quietly, “there’s someone in the back.”

Pa looked in his mirror but saw nobody.

“No, on the floor,” I whispered.

“Hmpf,” grunted Pa. “Does it look dangerous?”

“No,” I said, “it looks like a boy smaller than me.”

Raising his voice a little, Pa said, “If you’re on the floor in the back, you might as well get up on the seat and be comfortable.”

A few moments later I heard the boy move as he climbed off the floor and sat. Looking back, I saw him now sitting behind Pa. My first impression was that he was kinda cute. He had red, curly hair, a very pale freckled face, and green eyes. He was dirty and I could smell him, but I wasn’t put off. I was, however, curious.

I was born in 1935, and I had turned 13 on April 3. It was now summer, when I spent much of my time helping Pa in our huge (it seemed to me) vegetable garden.

We drove the three plus miles to our home, and Pa pulled into the drive. As soon as the car had appeared, our dog, Walter, rose from the porch and trotted towards us.

Getting out of the car, Pa opened the back door and said, “Come on out.”

Very slowly the boy emerged ─ first a foot, then a lower leg, then a waist, and finally the red-haired head. He stood by the car as Pa and I looked at him. The boy was wearing a torn and dirty undershirt and blue shorts. His feet were bare. He watched the approaching dog apprehensively. Suddenly, there was a dark spot on his shorts, and fluid ran down his leg.

He’s scared, I thought. So scared he’s pissed himself.

Pa simply said, “Thank you for getting out of the car before you did that. Now, boys, help me carry the groceries into the house.” He opened the trunk and pulled out a couple of bags which he handed to me, saying, “Take them into the kitchen, Tommy. Then he handed two to the boy. He took the rest of the bags onto the back porch and through the kitchen door. I followed him, and a moment later, the mystery boy followed me, never taking his eyes off Walter.

I turned and looked at the boy again. “Walter won’t hurt you,” I said. “He’s the friendliest hound in the county.”

The boy not only smelled of pee and other things, he was filthy. Pa took one look and said, “Tommy, take him into the bathroom and get him cleaned up.”

Great, I thought. Why is that my job? But I admit I was curious, and I thought maybe the boy would tell me what was going on.

I motioned for the boy to follow me and went down the hall and into the bathroom. Standing by the tub, we looked at each other. I judged him to be a couple of years younger than me.

“What’s yer name?” I asked.

He simply stared at me.

“Can you talk?”

He nodded his head.

“So why won’t ya tell me yer name?”

Again he was silent.

Damn, I said to myself. Aloud I said, “Get yer clothes off and take a bath. I’ll bring ya some clean clothes and a towel. Just throw yer old clothes on the floor. We’ll put ’em in the washing machine after yer bath.”

I saw no recognition that he understood what I said or intended to do it.

As I went into my room, I heard the water begin to run into the tub. I fished out a white T-shirt, some underwear, and some tan shorts and took them all back to the bathroom, where I found the boy standing just as he had been when I left.

I shrugged my shoulders, put the clothes on a stool, and went into the hallway. A few moments later, I heard him climb into the tub. Opening the door a crack, I could just see his curly red hair.

I quietly closed the door and went into the kitchen, where Pa was finishing stowing the groceries.

“He won’t say anything, not even his name,” I said. “He’s layin’ in the water, so I guess he’ll take a good bath, but I can’t get a word out of him.”

“He’s what?” Pa asked.

“Layin’ in the water.”

“What’s he laying?”

I was puzzled for a minute but then realized it was a Pa English lesson. “Um, he’s lying in the water?”

“That’s better.”

“Sorry, I always get those mixed up.”

“Yes, you do.” Changing subjects, he said, “The boy seems scared. Give him some time and treat him gently and he’ll probably come around.”

I poured a glass of milk and fixed a roast beef sandwich. Walter watched me closely, sighing when I went to the table without giving him anything. He flopped down, hoping I would drop part of my food. I sat chewing the sandwich and gulping down the milk.

The boy appeared silently in the doorway, still barefoot but wearing the shorts and shirt I’d left him.

Pa looked at him and asked, “You hungry?”

The boy nodded.

Pa told him to take a seat at the table and began making him a sandwich.

The boy moved around the walls of the kitchen so that he was as far away from Pa and Walter as possible. He sat across from me at the table, staring straight ahead like he was looking right through me. His staring made me uncomfortable, so I stared back.

Pa put a sandwich and a glass of milk on the table in front of the boy. The milk and sandwich disappeared in not more than 30 seconds. It was as though the kid had inhaled them.

I finished and put my plate and glass in the sink. The boy did the same with his. Wondering what to do, I went out and sat on the back porch steps. Walter and the boy came out. The boy sat beside me, still staring, but his look was vacant, like he wasn’t seeing anything at all. Walter lay on the porch close to me.

Our house was an old farmhouse. It was much too big for just me and Pa. Mom had died when I was little and I didn’t really remember her. Grandma had come and helped care for me, but she died when I was five. She and my mother were buried out back.

Pa and I had a large vegetable garden, but we didn’t grow any other crops. A neighbor farmer cut our hay twice a summer and hauled it away, paying us something for it.

“Why are you looking at me that way?” I asked the boy.

He looked down at the ground, but otherwise he didn’t respond.

“Look,” I said, “I need to know yer name. If ya won’t tell me, I’ll give ya one.”

He said nothing.

Sighing, I said, “Okay. When I was a little kid, I had an imaginary playmate because there was nobody around to play with. I called him Jeffrey. So now I’ll call you Jeffrey until you tell me yer real name.”

His face remained impassive.

I stood and said, “C’mon, Jeffrey.” I picked up a football I’d left on the porch, stepped to the grass, and tossed the ball to him. It hit him and fell on the ground. I picked it up and tossed it again. This time he caught it, looked at it, and then tossed it back. He didn’t hold it the way you do to pass it, so it came at me end over end.

“Watch me,” I said. “Hold it like this, with yer fingers on the laces t’ throw it.” I tossed it back to him. He held it the way I’d shown him and threw it back.

As we threw the ball back and forth, I moved back, increasing the distance between us. He could only throw it about ten feet before it fell to the ground.

After a time, I asked him, “Can ya swim?”

He seemed to think about that for a moment before he nodded.

“Follow me,” I said, and headed through the woods to a stream at the rear of our property. Walter bounded ahead; Jeffrey walked behind me. Long ago someone had dammed the stream with rocks using concrete to hold them in place, so there was a pretty good-sized pond.

I stripped off my clothes, and Walter and I jumped in the water. Looking back at the boy, I saw him remove his shorts and jump in still wearing his shirt.

“Walter loves the water,” I said. “He’d probably make a good retriever, but Pa doesn’t hold with huntin’ less it’s needed fer food.”

I ducked my head under and swam to the dam. When I looked up, I couldn’t see Jeffrey, but he quickly emerged standing next to me. We dove under the surface and, as we swam, I grabbed for his butt. I’m not sure what he thought, but he soon grabbed for mine. We played grab-ass for a while, a game which all boys seem to know instinctively. While I felt a little stirring in my groin, the cool water prevented anything further from happening.

In the early spring each year I cleared a spot beside the stream, cutting away some new-growth brush and leaving only a bed of soft grass.

In time I climbed out of the water and lay on the grass to dry in the sun. Jeffrey climbed out and lay beside me. Walter climbed out and shook the water off himself, of course splashing both me and Jeffrey. Jeffrey giggled. That was the first time I’d heard a sound out of him.

We didn’t say anything. I was darned if I was going to keep carrying on a one-sided conversation.

Once I looked over at him and saw he had a little boner. Of course, I immediately sprang my own, but I said and did nothing.

When I looked at him again, I saw he was gazing at my boner with just the hint of a smile. I smiled back.

“How old are ya, Jeffrey?” I asked

He didn’t answer. I tried to wait him out, but he said nothing.

After the sun had dried the three of us off, Jeffrey and I put our clothes back on and returned to the house, Walter now trotting beside Jeffrey.

In the kitchen, I said, “Just sit at the table, Jeffrey.”

As usual, Pa was listening to the evening news on the radio, which spoke of the Berlin airlift in Germany. Pa asked me to wash my hands and make salad for the three of us out of vegetables from our garden. I worked while Jeffrey sat, watching.

When Pa asked him to pour two glasses of milk and put them on the table, he just sat.

I poured the milk and put it on the table. Then I put some kibble in Walter’s dish. I filled the three bowls with salad and dressing and took them to the table along with knives and forks. Pa put some hot chicken breasts on plates and brought them to our places, Walter watching him closely.

“Eat up, Jeffrey,” he said, handing him a plate.

Jeffrey looked at me with a hint of a smile. I said, “Pa, that’s not really his name. I just call him that ’cause he won’t tell me his real name.”

“Okay, Well Jeffrey will work as well as any other name until he tells us who he is.”

After we finished our dessert of homemade apple pie and hand-cranked vanilla ice cream, we took our plates and glasses to the counter. Pa ran some hot water in the sink and began to wash the dishes while I dried them and put them away. Jeffrey sat, watching.

When we went into the living room, I asked Jeffrey, “Do ya know how t’ play chess?”

He shook his head.

“How about checkers?”

He nodded, so I got out the checker set and we played a few games. He was pretty good for a kid. We continued our games until I looked over and saw his eyelids drooping.

“You sleepy?” I asked.

He nodded, so I took him to a room that Pa said was to be his bedroom.

“I usually sleep naked in the summer,” I said, “but I can give you a nightshirt if you’d prefer.”

He nodded. I fished one out of my dresser and gave it to him. Of course it was too big for him, but he didn’t seem to mind. Then I showed him where there were dtoothpaste and an extra brush in the bathroom. We brushed our teeth and I said, “Good night.” Jeffrey went to his room and I went into mine, where I undressed, pulled back the covers, climbed in, and lay awake for a long time, Walter beside me. It was a warm, dark night. For a while, as I listened to the insects chirping and the peeper frogs croaking, I wondered who the boy was, what had happened, and why he had climbed into our car.

I awoke during the night. The room was dark except for faint moonlight coming through the window. I knew I wasn’t alone, but I could only make out the shape of my visitor. He was too short to be Pa, so I knew it was our mystery boy.

I turned on my bedside light and saw him standing in his nightshirt looking very anxious.

“Are ya worried about somethin’?” I asked.

He nodded.

“What?”

He simply stood, saying nothing.

“Were ya feelin’ alone in your room?” I asked.

He nodded.

Is that what’s upset you?”

Again, he nodded.

“Do ya wanna sleep in here with me?”

Once again, he nodded.

“Well,” I said, “there’s plenty of room in this bed if ya don’t mind sleepin’ with me.” Walter sighed as I shooed him off the bed.

I pulled the covers back and Jeffrey slid in beside me. Although it was a warm night, he was cold and shivering. I put my arm around his shoulders to try to comfort him. He winced but then snuggled up to me. I switched off the light and turned on my side away from him. He spooned up behind me, and as he calmed and warmed up, his little boner pushed against my butt crack. and we lay that way as his shivering slowly subsided.

Soon we were both asleep.

<<<< >>>>

We were awakened in the morning by Pa calling from the kitchen. We scrambled out of bed and went into the bathroom together, where we peed and brushed our teeth. We got dressed in our rooms. Jeffrey wore the clothes I’d given him yesterday while I put on a clean T-shirt and shorts. When I went into the kitchen, Jeffrey was sitting at the table. Walter was, as usual, watching Pa cook our breakfasts.

Pa soon had eggs and bacon and toast ready for us. At our places there were small glasses of orange juice, while at Pa’s place there was a mug of coffee.

Jeffrey looked at his place and then pointed to Pa’s coffee.

“You want coffee?” Pa asked.

The boy nodded.

“Huh, I never knew a boy your age who drank coffee,” Pa observed, but he stood and poured a cup for the boy. Looking at me, he asked, “Do you want some too?”

I had never had coffee, but I decided to give it a try. He poured me a cup before he sat. I watched as the boy spooned some sugar into his coffee.

I tried a sip. It was bitter and hot, so I poured some sugar into mine too. At first I didn’t like it, but by the end of the meal I found I was enjoying it.

Pa stood and brewed more coffee. When it was done, he poured some in all three mugs.

“So,” he said, “you two slept together last night.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, looking at Jeffrey, who looked scared. “Jeffrey seemed worried and nervous, and I could tell that he didn’t want to be alone, so we slept together.” Thinking Pa might get the wrong idea, I said, “Nothin’ happened.”

“You did well,” Pa said, “and I don’t care whether something happened or not. Just don’t get too attached until we know what’s going on.”

“Yes, sir.”

When Pa said that he didn’t care, Jeffrey visibly relaxed.

Pa took us out to the vegetable garden, where he showed Jeffrey how to loosen the dirt with a hoe and remove weeds without harming the plants. The three of us worked in the garden for the morning, weeding and harvesting the early vegetables. Walter lay in the shade, watching us.

We had a vegetable stand out by the road where we sold our produce. It worked on the honor system. Prices were listed on a large piece of cardboard, and there was a box with a slot to put in the payments.

I had been working in the garden since the spring, so I had a good tan. That day, as I grew hot, I removed my shirt and wore just a hat and my shorts.

As we sat at the table for lunch, I looked at Jeffrey, whose face and arms had grown very pink. I pointed that out to Pa, who got some ointment from the bathroom and slathered it on the boy’s face and arms.

“Maybe you shouldn’t work outside this afternoon,” Pa said to him. “Would you be willing to wash the kitchen floor and sweep the back porch?”

The boy nodded.

Pa got a bucket and some soap and showed him how to use the mop. Then Pa and I went out to the garden.

Later, I looked at the back porch and Jeffrey was sitting, watching us. I joined him for a few minutes. While we sat, we heard a train whistle in the distance. Jeffrey looked up as we listened and followed the sound until the train was gone.

He pointed towards the train and then laid his hands beside his head and pretended to sleep.

Puzzled, I asked, “Ya slept on a train?”

He nodded.

“In a passenger car?”

He shook his head.

I thought a moment and then said, “In a boxcar?”

That got a nod from him.

I knew that especially during the Depression many people who couldn’t afford a train ticket rode the rails.

“How long?” I asked.

He held up three fingers.

“Three days? I asked, incredulously.

He grinned.

“And nights?” I asked and again he flashed his grin.

“And nobody caught ya or bothered ya?”

He shook his head.

“Jeffrey,” I asked, “are ya afraid that somebody’s gonna make ya go back to wherever ya came from?”

This time he looked very serious, even scared, as he nodded.

“Pa won’t do that,” I said confidently, hoping it was true.

After we sat in silence for a while, I stood and said, “C’mon, let’s go for a swim.” He rose and, as we headed towards the pond, Walter trotting ahead as usual, I put my arm around Jeffrey’s waist. He cringed, cried out, and fell to the ground. His face had become even paler, and he lay, tears running down his cheeks.

Pa came running and asked, “What happened?” I told him what little I knew, and he got the boy to sit up. Then he said, “Jeffrey, take your shirt off.”

The boy shook his head as tears poured from his eyes.

“If you don’t take it off then I will,” Pa said.

Jeffrey looked at him, scared. Reluctantly he complied, although I could tell that removing the shirt was hurting him. Looking at his back, I saw it was covered with welts and scars, and several raw places which looked like they were infected.

Very gently, Pa helped the boy to stand. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, “but you need to see a doctor.”

Jeffrey shook his head hard and tried to pull away from Pa, but Pa was too strong for him. He took the boy to the car and placed him in the front seat. Jeffrey tried to climb back out of the car, but Pa stopped him and told me to sit between Jeffrey and my door. I got in, effectively pinning Jeffrey between us and we drove to the doctor’s office in town. All the way, Pa talked quietly to the boy, trying to soothe him and assure him that nothing bad was going to happen to him.

“Tommy,” he said, as he climbed out of the car, “stay beside him and don’t let him out your side.”

Standing, he turned back, reached in, took hold of Jeffrey, and hauled him out of the car. He held the boy firmly so he wouldn’t run as the three of us made our way into the office.

The nurse was sitting at a desk.

“Good afternoon, Pauline,” Dad said. “We need Doc Cummins to look at this boy’s back.”

Pa turned Jeffrey around so she could see his back.

“Goodness,” she said, “stay right there and I’ll get the doctor.”

A few moments later, she returned and took us into the doctor’s examining room. Since he was our doctor, Pa and I knew him well. Pa spoke to the doctor quietly, telling him what we knew of the boy and what had happened.

“Well,” said Dr. Cummins, “he’s clearly been beaten. Who did this to you, boy?”

Jeffrey said nothing.

“Was it your father?” the doctor asked.

Again, Jeffrey didn’t answer but there were tears in his eyes.

I told the doctor what I’d learned about Jeffrey riding the train for three days and nights.

“I should report this,” the doctor said, “but since we don’t know his name or where he’s from that won’t do much good. He really ought to go to the hospital.”

“It was a struggle to get him in here,” said Pa. “I can’t imagine we’d get him into a hospital or that he’d stay. He seems to trust us some and I’d hate to leave him all alone in the hospital. Isn’t there anything you can do?”

“Well, there’s a new drug out called penicillin. It’s supposed to treat infections. We can try that.” He took out a needle and a small bottle of liquid. He pushed the needle into the bottle, pulled the plunger on the needle back, and sucked the liquid into the needle.

Jeffrey watched the needle anxiously.

“This may sting for a minute, but it should help you,” he said. “Now, take your shorts down.”

The boy looked at me and at Pa, fear obvious on face. Then he slowly pulled down his shorts.

The doctor had him lean over the examination table.

“Try to relax,” the doctor said, and he stuck the needle into Jeffrey’s bum.

Jeffrey flinched but didn’t cry out. When the doctor told him that was all there was to it, Jeffrey pulled up his shorts.

Before we left, Doctor Cummins put some sort of ointment on the boy’s back, saying it should help take some of the soreness away. Jeffrey whimpered and wriggled some when the doctor touched his back but he didn’t try to move away. The doctor told us to bring him back immediately if his infection got any worse.

We rode back home in silence. When we pulled into the drive, Walter, who had been waiting on the back porch, greeted us. I noticed that he walked right beside Jeffrey into the house and sat beside him at the table, resting his chin on the boy’s lap. I’d observed before that Walter sensed when someone was unhappy or hurt, and I was glad to see him trying to comfort his new friend.

I decided I’d take a stab at teaching Jeffrey how to play chess, so after supper, I got the chess set and showed him how each of the pieces could move and how the game was decided. We played for a couple of hours, Walter lying as close to Jeffrey as he could get. Of course, Jeffrey wasn’t very good at first, but he seemed to be making progress by the time we went to bed.

When we got ready for bed, Jeffrey stood by my bed, clearly showing that he wanted to sleep with me again. I had no problem with that.

“Are ya just wearing the nightshirt so I won’t see yer back?” I asked.

He nodded and climbed into the bed beside me. He spooned up against me, and a few minutes later I felt his hard little pecker in my butt crack. I immediately got hard as well, but nothing more happened and we slept through the night.

Pa wasn’t a religious man, but he insisted that we all go to church on Sundays. The building was a typical white, New England church. The wood pews were uncomfortable and sometimes I couldn’t help squirming. Pa would put his hand gently on my knee to still me.

The first time Jeffrey went with us, I noticed that he too was uncomfortable sitting, but he never complained. He listened with awe as the organ played, and he imitated us as we stood, sat, or knelt. He held the hymnal when we were singing, but he didn’t make a sound.

<<<< >>>>

One day, after our usual swim, Jeffrey, Walter, and I were relaxing naked in the sun beside the pond. Jeffrey’s back had mostly healed, and he was no longer hiding it from us, although he still wore a T-shirt when he was working in the garden.

As the light began to fade, we lay back and enjoyed the quiet, listening to the crickets in the field and birds in the trees.

Then he began to speak, the first time I’d heard his voice.

“My name’s not Jeffrey, ya know.”

Startled, I didn’t reply for a few moments. At last I said, “I know that, but I don’t know what yer real name is.”

“It’s Clarence,” he said, “but I hate it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my father’s name too and I hate him.”

“Ya can stay Jeffrey as far as I’m concerned.”

“Then that’s what I’ll do.”

“How old are ya?” I asked.

“Eleven.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“September 17.”

That made me about two years older than he was. I was hesitant to ask too much for fear he’d clam up, but I was curious. “Where are ya from?”

“Far away. I’ll never go back,” he said.

“Are ya worried that yer pa might track ya down?”

“Not here; not anymore. I don’t think he’d make the effort. We hated each other, and he’ll think I’m no loss.”

“What about yer mother?”

“She wouldn’t ever stand up to him. Whatever he wanted, he got.” Then he turned the tables and asked me a question. “Where’s yer mom?”

“She died when I was still a baby. I don’t remember anything about her. I’ll show ya her grave when we go back to the house.”

Then I bit the bullet and asked the question I’d been wanting to ask ever since we discovered the condition of his back. “Why did he beat you?”

“I can’t talk about that. I’m afraid you and yer Pa might hate me, and I couldn’t live with that.”

“Jeffrey, there’s no way I would ever hate ya and Pa doesn’t hate anybody.”

“Ya might if you knew the truth.”

“Try me.”

“No.”

“Okay. Well, I’m here to listen when yer ready.”

With that we stood, and after putting on our clothes, we walked back toward the house for supper. At the edge of the field farthest from the house, I showed him the two graves for my mother and grandmother. Pa and I had put some rocks on the graves but there was no sign to tell what they were.

When we were sitting at the supper table, Pa poured Jeffrey some coffee.

“Thank you,” he said.

Surprised, Pa said, “So you really can speak.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry I was such a pain and a worry. Fer a while I jes didn’t feel like talking. I was afraid you’d ask me questions I didn’t want t’ answer and make me go home.”

“That’s okay,” said Pa. “I figured it’d just take you time to learn to trust us. Because of the beatings you’ve had, I would not make you go home, even if I knew where it was.”

After supper, Jeffrey and I put the chess set on the kitchen table and played a long game. He played better and it was clear he was learning. He was still not talking very much. The silence was perfect for the game.

I congratulated him on his progress, and I nearly patted him on the back before I decided he wasn’t quite ready for that yet.

With Jeffrey in my bed, I couldn’t really beat off, so I went into the bathroom to do it as I had each night since Jeffrey had been with us, enjoying a satisfying climax.

In the morning, Pa announced that he had to go see a lawyer. Jeffrey and I looked at each other, wondering what that was about, but we didn’t voice the question. We worked in the garden in the morning, hoeing, harvesting, and putting vegetables on our stand.

Over lunch, Pa, who had returned from town, said, “I needed to consult with a lawyer about what the legal situation is for Jeffrey. What I found was that our county has no governmental requirements for the care of kids like Jeffrey who are homeless. If we beat him or otherwise hurt him, the police could intervene. But if we house him and feed him, and his parents don’t look for him, the government won’t do anything. There are adoption laws administered by juvenile courts, but that would require Jeffrey’s parents to give up custody, and I’m not sure it would be wise to contact them. So, I think Jeffrey can stay with us unless some sort of complaint is made against us.”

“That’s great!” I said.

Jeffrey sat and smiled.

<<<< >>>>

One afternoon as we lay on the grass after our swim, Jeffrey asked, “Can I ask ya a question? It might make ya angry.”

“I guess ya can. If I don’t want to say anything I just won’t answer it.”

“Do you like to play with your dingus?”

I was surprised but I answered, “I think most all boys do. Don’t you?”

He was silent for a moment before he nodded.

“You won’t tell yer Pa, will you? He might throw me out.”

“He won’t do that,” I said. “He probably wouldn’t even care. Is that what happened with your dad?”

“Yeah, sorta.”

Sensing an opening to understanding him better, I said, “Tell me ’bout it.”

He thought for a bit and then said, “I had a friend, Paul. He was ’bout my own age. Dad never came home until late in the afternoon, so Paul and I used to take off our clothes and cuddle on my bed. It felt good, and I didn’t think it was wrong.

“One day, we were laying naked on my bed and cuddling when my father walked in. I don’t know why he’d come home early from work, but when he saw us laying on the bed naked, he exploded.

“He yelled, ‘I won’t have any fuckin’ queer boys in this house!’ Then he ordered my friend t’ dress and leave immediately. As my friend went out the door, my father shouted, ‘I’ll tell your parents just what they’re raising.’

“He couldn’t do that ’cause he had no idea who the boy was and I refused t’ tell him. When my friend was gone, my father beat me with his belt, the buckle end, calling me a pervert until I passed out. He did that for several days. Each time he beat me he called me a pervert. I don’t even know what that word means, d’ you?”

I shook my head, hoping he’d go on.

“I finally decided I had t’ get away from him. I packed a bag with some apples and a few clothes and headed for the railroad tracks.

“Our town has a train yard where freight trains are made up, so I climbed into a boxcar and hid until the train began to move.

“Over the next few days, I ate all my apples. I’d forgotten to bring water and I was really thirsty. When the train slowed down, I jumped off it and found a faucet in the train station. Then I looked for a place to hide. That’s when I found yer car.”

I was amazed. This boy who had barely spoken until then had told me the whole story.

He went on. “If yer mad by what I am or what I said, I’ll understand and I’ll leave.”

We lay in silence for a long time.

“I’m certainly not mad,” I said. “I’m sorry it happened but I don’t blame you. I’ve never done anything like that with a boy, although I know some of my friends have. They call it ‘practicing for the real thing’. I usually think about girls, mostly picturing their boobs, but I’ve no desire to have sex with one.”

By the time we walked back to the house for supper, we had a new understanding and a new closeness.

After supper, Jeffrey said he was tired and went to bed. That gave me the opportunity to satisfy my curiosity. I took Pa’s dictionary from the shelf and began searching it.

When Pa came into the room, he asked, “What are you looking up?”

I felt trapped, because I didn’t want to tell him what Jeffrey had said, but I finally answered, “Pervert.”

“Goodness, where did you hear that word?” and I knew I had to tell him. I hoped Jeffrey wouldn’t find out.

“Well, I don’t think there’s any way a boy Jeffrey’s age could be a pervert. I’m not sure of the definition, but it has to do with sex.”

“Oh.”

When I had turned 12, Pa had explained to me how sex worked. I was very embarrassed but he seemed to be comfortable talking about it. Anyway, it was then that I learned about wet dreams and beating off, and what that stuff was that later came out of my penis. It was lucky he told me when he did, because it wasn’t long after that that I had my first wet dream. I’d probably have panicked if I’d thought I’d wet my bed.

Anyway, I was glad to hear that Jeffrey wasn’t a pervert even if I still didn’t understand just what that meant.

As we got ready for bed that night, I went into the bathroom and happily pleasured myself. Satisfied, I quickly went to sleep.

In the middle of the night, I was awakened by scream. Jeffrey lay writhing and crying beside me but he was asleep.

Pa gently woke him and told him he’d been having a bad dream. He lay there, quivering.

“C’mon,” I said and helped him sit up on the side of the bed for a few minutes. I put my arm around his shoulders and he slowly stopped quivering. When he lay down, I went to the other side of the bed and climbed in. He pulled me to him and kissed me gently on the cheek.

“Thank ya fer bein’ patient with me,” he said.

At first I wondered if he was trying to seduce me with a kiss, if that would be what a pervert did, but I decided that it must have been just a friendly one, because he didn’t say or do anything to make me think he wanted me that way.

Soon, we were both asleep.

<<<< >>>>

We continued to work in the garden each day until the time came for school to begin. Pa had arranged for Jeffrey to go to the town school, so on the first day of classes, we stood outside at the end of our driveway and waited for the bus. When we got on, I saw some kids stare at Jeffrey, but that always happened with a new kid. The stares weren’t impolite; they were just curious.

Ours was a small school district, and all the grades were in one building.

I took Jeffrey to the office, where he received his classroom assignment and locker combination. He was in the sixth grade. His locker was right outside his classroom. I left him there and went to my own room in the high school section.

During lunch we sat at a table with some other boys my age. At first, Jeffrey didn’t join in the conversation. He simply sat observing, but by the end of the period he was chatting with Peter Franks, the boy next to him. Peter was in my grade but I barely knew him because he had just moved to our district and lived as far away from town as he could and still be in our school.

Jeffrey told me later that when he had gym he hadn’t wanted to change his shirt because of the scars on his back, but he really had no choice.

After the class came the mandatory showers, even for the younger boys, and he received more curious looks, but nobody said anything. He washed quickly and grabbed a towel on the way out of the showers.

On the bus home, I asked Jeffrey how his day had gone. “Pretty good,” he said. “But I can already tell that I’ll have trouble with math, and I really didn’t like the showers in gym.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “If we didn’t have those showers, some of the boys would stink awful bad. As fer math, I can help you with that.”

When we got off the bus, we agreed that we had time for a quick swim before supper. After we ate, we sat at the kitchen table and worked on our homework.

The school days passed easily. Jeffrey and I always ate lunch together, and Peter Franks usually joined us.

On the bus home one day, Jeffrey asked, “What do you know about Peter?”

“Not much,” I said. “He must live down the road from us because he always rides our bus. I don’t know anything about his family. He just joined our school this year.”

A few days later, Jeffrey announced that he was going to ride the bus to Peter’s house after school.

“How will you get home? I asked.

“Peter says it’s only about a mile, so I’ll walk.”

“What do you want me to tell Pa?”

“Just that I’m visiting a school friend and I’ll be home in time for supper.”

That day, when I got off the bus, Jeffrey stayed on, sitting with Peter.

Jeffrey never said anything about his visit, but from then on he visited at least three times a week. I thought it was a strange relationship, with Peter being so much older, but I didn’t worry about it. In fact, I was glad Jeffrey had found a friend.

Pa and I knew that Jeffrey’s birthday was on September 17. When Jeffrey and I got home from school that day, Pa met us out front and told us to go to the barn. Inside the barn door was a new bicycle with a card on it that said it was from Pa and me and it wished him a happy birthday.

“I can’t believe it,” said Jeffrey. “I’ve never had a birthday present before.”

“Well,” said Pa, “a boy’s birthday is important and Tommy and I thought that, once you learned to ride it, you two could take rides together.”

Jeffrey wheeled the bike out of the barn and then looked puzzled.

“I’ve never ridden a bike before. How d’ ya do it?”

“You climb on it and try to keep going. It’ll take a while to get the hang of it, but after you’ve fallen a few times you’ll figure it out.”

Jeffrey climbed on and tried to ride, but before he got three feet, he fell off. He climbed up and tried again. This time he went about eight feet. I’ll give him credit. He was determined and he didn’t quit.

Finally, about half an hour later, he rode out to the road and back, climbed off with a grin, and said, “I think I got it.”

From that moment on, we became bicycle buddies. We rode to the stores in town for Pa, and on Saturday, we spent all day riding, stopping only at a local pond for a swim and to eat the lunch Pa had packed for us.

The first time Jeffrey rode alone, he went to Peter’s house, returning with a happy smile.

But one day he came home from Peter’s and he had clearly been crying.

I took him with me to the back porch, sat him down, and asked, “What’s wrong?” Walter came and sat beside him, putting his head in the crying boy’s lap.

“N-n-nothing.”

“C’mon Jeffrey,” I said, “you’ve obviously been crying. Why?”

He sniffled before saying, “Peter and I have been cuddling naked on his bed. But today he grabbed my dingus and wanted to play with it. When I told him no, he just said, ‘All the boys do it. Don’t be a baby.’ I kept telling him I didn’t want to and he kept trying to grab me, so I snatched up my clothes and ran out of the room and down the road before I even got dressed.

“Tommy, why would he do that?” he blubbered.

“I don’t know, but I will tell you that it won’t happen again.” I stood, saying, “If Pa asks, tell him I’ll be home soon.”

I ran to the barn and pulled out my bicycle. Jumping on it, I pedaled as fast as I could to Peter’s house. Fortunately, Jeffrey had told me it was the only yellow house on our road and it was indeed the bus’s last stop.

When I got to Peter’s house, I left my bike in the front yard, went to the door, and pounded on it.

I had to pound several times before Peter opened the door.

“Hi, Tommy,” he said. Then looking at me, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

I shoved him back into the house and grabbed his shirt with one hand.

“If ya ever, ever, ever lay a hand on Jeffrey again, I will flatten ya so bad they’ll need a spatula t’ pick ya up.”

He didn’t seem to have much courage, because he looked really scared.

“Do ya understand?” I asked.

He nodded silently. I shoved him so that he fell against the stairs and then I walked out, slamming the door.

Riding away, I began to cool off a little.

Back home, I went into the house, washed off the sweat I had worked up biking back and forth, and sat at the table just as Pa was ready to serve. He gave me a questioning look, but I shook my head a little and he didn’t say anything. I knew I’d have to explain some time, but I didn’t want to do it with Jeffrey in the room.

After supper, Jeffrey and I settled to our homework as though nothing had happened. Jeffrey kept looking up at me, but I didn’t say anything, so he went back to work.

It wasn’t until the weekend when Pa and I were working at one end of the garden while Jeffrey was at the other end that I was able to tell Pa what had happened.

He listened thoughtfully and then said, “Tommy, I understand what you did and why, but I’m not comfortable with you threatening people. Next time, if there is one, please talk to me first.”

I nodded. “It’s just that I was so mad I had t’ act right away.”

“I get that,” he said, “but what would you have done if Peter hadn’t been alone?”

“I never even thought about that,” I said. “I guess I was a little stupid.”

“No, you weren’t stupid. But you did need to put the brakes on and think rationally before you acted. Try it next time. And there will be a next time, if not with Peter, then with someone else. I know you’re trying to protect Jeffrey, who’s really very vulnerable, but I don’t want the two of you getting hurt because you act impulsively.”

In the following days, I often saw Peter, but he stayed far away from Jeffrey and me.

Three days later, as we got ready for bed, I folded back the sheet and quilt. As usual, Jeffrey climbed in, and Walter, sighing, jumped down to the floor.

Jeffrey was silent for a time and then asked, “Tommy, was Peter right?”

“No, he was definitely wrong. If ya didn’t want him t’ play with yer penis, he had no right t’ try t’ force ya.”

“I know that,” said Jeffrey, “but I meant was he right when he said all boys do it?”

I thought a moment, before saying, “Well, yes and no. I think it’s true that just about all boys play with themselves, but I don’t think it’s true that all boys do it together.”

“Oh,” he said, “so ya won’t think I’m a bad person if I play with my own?”

“Not at all. Remember, I do it, too.”

In the morning, before Jeffrey appeared, I told Pa about the conversation we’d had and that I thought he should talk with Jeffrey like he had with me. That evening, they sat in the kitchen and talked while I studiously pretended to read in the living room.

<<<< >>>>

When we’d finished harvesting all our vegetables, Pa got a job in town for the winter. He did that every winter, saying we needed the money for food and taxes. He worked in the market, sometimes as a cashier, sometimes putting out new stock as the shelves emptied.

The days grew shorter and on the first Sunday in December snow began to fly. Jeffrey and I cleared about five inches of heavy snow from the driveway and the walk to the back porch. As we finished, I felt a snowball hit the back of my head. Soon, we were in a fierce snowball fight. Even though I was older and bigger, he gave as good as he got.

When we’d finally exhausted ourselves, we went into the house to get warm, leaving our wet clothes in the mud room.

Pa had hot chocolate with marshmallows floating in it ready for us. We talked and laughed, throwing insults, each of us trying to outdo the other. Pa just sat back smiling and enjoying it. That evening, we got out the chess set and had a wonderful, challenging contest. It was the first time that Jeffrey beat me.

Christmastime came and school closed for vacation. Jeffrey was so excited I thought he’d pass out. “I’ve never had a Christmas,” he explained.

The three of us and Walter walked back into the woods and found a good tree. Pa cut it down and we dragged it back to the house. We set it up in the living room, and Pa got out a box with ornaments, but before we put them on the tree, we strung garlands of popcorn and cranberries and draped them on the branches.

When Pa put the lights on, Jeffrey said in awe, “It’s beautiful.” He hugged Pa and then me. “Thank you both,” he said.

On Christmas morning we found packages under the tree. We weren’t rich, so most of them were useful things ─ new shirts, sweaters, hats, but also a book for each of us. It was fun watching Jeffrey eagerly open each present.

The holidays were over too soon, and it was back to school for us boys. The winter days, dark and dreary, passed slowly.

By April, we could see that spring was ready to burst open. There were buds on the trees and even a few flowers from bulbs had peeked up by the house.

We celebrated my birthday as I turned 14. It was a quiet time and the gifts were the usual useful ones.

The April vacation arrived, and each day we worked in the garden, first preparing the soil and then planting rows and rows of vegetables. By the end of vacation, the job was nearly done.

Jeffrey joined me in bed every night, saying that he loved to cuddle. I knew he loved other things as well, because I felt his hard penis up against my backside.

That summer, Walter died. One day he was with us, his usual attentive self. The next morning he simply didn’t wake up.

Pa had established a separate burial site for his dogs. We gave Walter a loving and dignified burial. No scripture was read; it wasn’t a religious ceremony. Instead, we all shared memories of our friend and wished him peace in doggy heaven.

Not long after that, Pa came home with a new dog, a cute little hound puppy. Pa said that a home without a dog was incomplete.

He decided the new pup would be named Jack.

Jack was of course spoiled by the three of us. Although Pa had a rule that the dog should not be fed at the table, somehow, bits of food found their way to the floor as we ate.

At first, Jack was too small to make his own way to our swimming hole. Jeffrey or I could hold him in one hand as we carried him. Like Walter, Jack immediately loved the water and paddled about happily as Jeffrey and I swam and played. At first we had to watch him carefully because he wasn’t big enough to climb out of the pool. Later, when we got out to lie in the sun, Jack lay with us, sometimes on his back with his feet in the air.

One day, as we lay quietly enjoying the warmth of the sun Jeffrey asked, “Tommy, do you think it’s possible for boys t’ love each other?”

I had never really thought about that and I wondered what had occasioned the question, but I didn’t ask. Instead, I said, “I don’t know. Maybe that depends on what ya mean by love. I mean, I loved Walter and I love Pa, but that’s not romantic love. I guess I love ya as a brother, but I don’t think that’s romantic love either.”

He was silent for a bit before saying, “Would ya hate me if I loved a boy?”

“Of course not. It’s none of my business who ya love.”

“Would Pa hate me?”

“Definitely not. I’ve never known him t’ hate anybody. I’m not sure he has it in him.”

When Jeffrey didn’t say anything more, I asked, “Do ya love a boy?”

“I’m not sure yet, and even if I do, I don’t think he loves me.”

We didn’t talk any more about it at the time, but I wondered what Jeffrey was thinking and who he might love.

Life on the farm continued with its regular cycle of planting, weeding, harvesting, and resting. Again, Pa worked in the store during the winters, while Jeffrey and I continued to work through another grade at school.

By the next summer, I was 15 and Jeffrey was 13.

It was an especially hot summer and sometimes at night I had trouble sleeping. That effect was made worse by Jeffrey wanting to cuddle almost every night. Jack wasn’t very happy with that arrangement, but whenever Jeffrey appeared in my room, Jack groaned and jumped off the bed, lying on the floor beside it.

One night, as he was spooning behind me, Jeffrey began rubbing himself in my but crack. I wasn’t really comfortable with that, so I turned over facing him.

He had already begun his growth spurt, and I knew that he was regularly jerking off and shooting.

Without thinking, I reached down and took hold of his penis. Then, I remembered what had happened with Peter and I immediately stopped.

“Don’t stop,” he said.

“But ya didn’t like it when Peter did that to ya.”

He was silent for a bit before saying, “But I’ve changed, and yer not Peter. Go ahead.”

Hesitantly, I reached down and took his penis in my hand. A moment later I felt his hand on my penis, and we started to rub each other. He began to moan and exclaimed “Oh!” several times. I had to admit that the sensation of him beating me off felt even better than when I did myself. The tension grew in my groin, and I knew I wouldn’t last long. We reached our climaxes almost at the same moment.

When we finished, we rolled on our backs as our excitement decreased.

“Happy?” I asked.

“Very,” he replied. “What about you?”

“Yeah.”

Soon we were both asleep.

From that night on, we beat each other off almost every night. I had no idea whether Pa knew or not, but I was pretty sure he wouldn’t condemn us. After all, what else could two horny, rather isolated boys do to relieve themselves?

Jack of course did not approve. He even tried to convince Pa to let him lie on Pa’s bed, but that was a nonstarter. So he returned to lying beside mine.

At first, we just brought each other off, but as time passed, we got more into kissing and rubbing each other all over.

It was Jeffrey who first introduced using his mouth on my penis. Oh, my, it was wonderful and I immediately reciprocated.

When we’d finished our lovemaking one night, Jeffrey said quietly, “Tommy, I think I love you.”

I hugged him and kissed him hard on the mouth, saying, “I think I love you too.”

The next evening, we walked into the kitchen holding hands. Pa looked at us, smiled, and nodded a little.

“I wondered when that would come,” he said.

“Yer not mad?” Jeffrey asked.

“Nope. What you do is totally your business.”

In time I realized that I didn’t just love Jeffrey, I adored him. I felt as though he made me complete. Since we’d first met, when a young, dirty, smelly boy climbed out of the back of our car and pissed himself, we’d grown closer and closer. The fact that we were doing something others would condemn mattered not at all. What we did felt not only wonderful but also natural, like it was meant to be.

In the fall of that year, while Jeffrey and I were in school, Pa again visited a lawyer in town. The lawyer was surprised by Pa’s request, but he agreed to follow through on it.

That evening, as we finished supper, Pa said, “I’ve something to tell you.”

I had already stood up to clear the dishes, but I slowly sat back down.

“I went to a lawyer today,” he began, “and I made a new will. I’m leaving the farm to the both of you.”

Jeffrey and I looked at each other. I had never thought about the eventuality of Pa’s passing or what would become of the farm.

“So long as you live here and work the farm, it’ll be yours,” he went on, “but should either of you want to sell the farm and leave, then the other will have to agree to sell. It should bring a lot as the town is growing and developers are snatching up available land. I hope that will never happen,” he said. “As far as I can tell you two are very happy together. So long as you stay together, it’ll be your farm and home.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I murmured.

“I do,” said Jeffrey. He stood and walked around to Pa, where he hugged Pa and said, “Thank you.”

What we didn’t know at the time was that when Dr. Cummins had done his yearly checkup on Pa, he had diagnosed something called a heart murmur, which was a problem with Pa’s heart valves. “You could go anytime,” he said to Pa, “so best put your affairs in order.” Two summers later, when I was 20 and we were all working in the fields, I suddenly heard Jeffrey yell, “Tommy! Help!”

But it wasn’t Jeffrey who needed help. Pa was lying face down between two rows of corn. Jack was beside him, whimpering. We called the emergency responders, but we already knew it was too late. Pa had died of a massive heart attack.

He died doing what he loved best, and if he had any time to think before he died, I don’t believe he regretted a thing.

We buried him next to my mother, with grandma on the other side of her. Although none of us was really religious, we had attended church each Sunday. For us it was more of a social activity than a religious one. The pastor from our church came out for the burial. What surprised me was how many other people came. Pa had always seemed to keep to himself and I had no idea so many people knew him.

Of course, Jeffrey and I stayed on the farm with Jack, and as the town grew, we hired a farmer to plow up more land. We planted more seeds and hired summer workers from among the high school boys for whom it was their first work experience. I thought, in his quiet, unassuming way, Pa was still helping folks.

We continued to operate the farm for years. Depending on the weather, we had good years and bad ones. We never got rich except in satisfaction, which was more than reward enough. When the time was right, we took in two boys, Ethan and George, who grew up on the farm and worked with us and will eventually inherit it. Of course, the boys know about Jeffrey’s and my relationship. It remains to be seen whether they have a similar one, but that too is in the future.

Often now, Jeffrey and I sit on the back porch watching the sunset. We don’t talk much. We love and understand each other, and that’s all that’s necessary.