The following morning, Friday, I went through the motions of doing my chores while still thinking about Josh’s and my problem. At the breakfast table I ate without hunger and silently.
My grandfather studied me through the meal and towards the end he asked quietly, “What’s bothering you, Gregory?”
“Nothing!” I snapped.
Again he studied me before saying, “I don’t care what you think about me or this farm. But you don’t talk to me that way. Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” I replied sullenly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Yes,” I said a little more politely.
“That’s better. Now, don’t tell me nothing’s bothering you because I can see it all over your face. If you don’t want to talk about it that’s fine, but don’t lie to me. Just know that when you’re ready to talk, I’m here.” His voice was surprisingly kind but I wasn’t having any of it.
“I’ve got nothing to talk about,” I mumbled.
As the three of us walked to the bus with Charlie, Derek asked, “Gee, Greg, what’s your problem?”
“I don’t have one!” I snapped.
“Oh, I think you do, and I think you ought to talk about it with Grandpa.”
“I don’t give a shit what you think. Just leave me alone.”
After that we waited in silence for the bus and rode in silence to school.
At my locker I heard the boy at the next locker say, “Mornin’ faggot.”
I ignored him.
“If you’re not a faggot, I’ll take it back,” the boy said, “but then you shouldn’t hang around with a faggot.”
I wanted to hit him, but after the scene yesterday in the lunch room I knew I had to keep control of myself. So instead I said, “Go to hell. I’ll hang around with who I want to, and I certainly don’t wanna hang around with you!” With that, I slammed my locker shut and went into the classroom.
Throughout the morning I endured sneering looks and snide comments. When I went to my locker to get my lunch, I found a note folded and slipped through the locker vent. Unfolding it, I read, “Hey, faggot, you’re a loser and you’re going to hell just like your boyfriend. I hope you both get AIDS.”
I slammed my locker shut again and went to lunch where I told Josh about the note before exclaiming, “I just wanna beat the hell out of them all. Who do they think they are judging us?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I think they’re wolves, circling for the kill.”
“I guess I’ll just have to try to get through the afternoon. Maybe by Monday, things’ll have calmed down.”
“Don’t count on it,” Josh responded.
The afternoon was no better, but I managed to hold my temper… barely. The worst was in gym class where the teacher referred to me and Josh as “the two fairies.” I thought about complaining to the principal but decided I wouldn’t get anywhere, so I just kept my mouth shut.
When we arrived home, Grandpa said to me, “Do your chores and then I want to talk with you.”
Well, I don’t wanna talk with you, I thought, but I just nodded and got to work. I had to admit to myself, although I certainly wouldn’t say it to anybody else, that I was beginning to enjoy doing physical work even if it was just shoveling cow manure.
When I entered the kitchen after washing up, Grandpa said, “Sit down.” I obeyed, wondering what was coming.
“Gregory, I got a call from the school today. Do you know what it was about?” I shook my head. “The principal told me that you’d been in a fight yesterday and that the next time it happened you’d be suspended. Did you fight?”
Silent for a moment, I finally nodded, saying, “It really wasn’t much of a fight. This kid said something nasty to me in the lunch room and I called him an ‘ignorant shit,’ so he stood up and took a swing at me. I punched him in the stomach. But the teacher only saw my punch so I guess that’s what he reported.”
“What did the boy say?”
“Nothing I wanna talk about.”
“He said something that got you mad and you don’t want to talk about it?” I nodded. “What’s going on? I had two boys who went through that school and I never got a call from the principal. Now you get in trouble on the second day. You need to straighten up, son. I won’t have your anger and your insolence either here or at school. Do you understand me?”
“Don’t call me ‘son!’ I’m not your son.”
“Agreed, and I’m sorry your father’s not here, but do you understand what I’m saying?”
I nodded, and with that, I took my school books and went up to the bedroom. I was puzzled. Grandpa had said he had two boys go through the school. I supposed Dad was one of them. So who was the other? But I had more important things on my mind. So putting that question aside I threw myself on the bed as I wondered what the hell I was gonna do. I was in trouble in school and at home. Grandpa already hated me. I couldn’t talk to Derek because he was too young. The only one I could talk to was a gay outcast. I lay on the bed until I finally dozed off.
When Derek came up to call me for supper I said I didn’t want any. I took out my homework to try to get my thoughts off of my problems, but it didn’t work.
When my brothers came up to go to bed, Teddy said happily, “Grandpa is teaching us how to play Parcheesi. He can really be a lot of fun, Greg. Why don’t you like him?”
“Because he hates me and he’s always bossing me around,” I responded.
“No, he doesn’t hate you,” Derek said thoughtfully. “He just doesn’t like you being so rude to him.”
“Well, he’ll have to get used to it. Now get ready for bed and leave me alone.”
After my brothers had gone to sleep, I lay awake, still thinking unhappily and unproductively. Finally, I quietly moved aside the covers, pulled down my undershorts, and began fondling myself. I knew that doing that sometimes helped me sleep, and I realized that I hadn’t done it since before Mom died. It took some effort to get a boner, but finally I succeeded and reveled in the sensations of coming. Taking an old sock, I wiped the cum off my stomach and chest, pulled up my shorts and my covers, and tried to go to sleep.
I was awakened by the clang of the frying pan and Grandpa calling. Jesus, I thought, can’t we even sleep in on the weekend? Dragging myself out of bed and dressing, I went downstairs, put on my jacket, and went out to do my chores.
During breakfast, our grandfather told us that while we had been at school he had plowed and planted the hayfield so that day we were going to prepare the potato field for planting. After breakfast we all trooped out to the barn, where Grandpa got the tractor going and then we followed him out to the field. As he started plowing up the dirt he had us collecting all the leftover growth and weeds from the previous fall and stacking them in a pile which we’d later burn. Within twenty minutes all three of us were sweating and had stripped off our shirts.
By mid-morning my back was aching. Both my brothers had to take frequent rest breaks. Out of sheer stubbornness, I soldiered on as long as I could but was whipped by lunch time.
We ate lunch under a tree by the side of the field. Grandpa observed that all three of us were beginning to burn and told us to put our shirts back on.
We worked much more slowly in the afternoon, my brothers not doing much of anything.
Dragging ourselves back to the barn at dusk, we did our chores and went in to a supper of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and carrots from last year’s harvest.
After supper Grandpa announced that, since we didn’t have homework, we could do the dishes.
“Dammit, we’re not slaves, Grandpa!” I exploded.
“What did you say?”
“I said we’re not slaves,” I repeated.
“Before that.”
“Oh, I said dammit. Sorry. I guess it’s just a bad habit.”
“Well, it’s one you need to get over. I know you’re not slaves. On a farm, we share work as much as we can. Maybe you forget that in addition to the farming I wash your clothes, I cook your meals, I make your lunches, and during the week, I do the dishes and I’m not your slave either. That’s just how it is. Now it’s your turn, like it or not.”
Grumbling, I filled the basin in the sink with water heated on the stove and began to wash while my brothers dried.
“You know,” said Grandpa, “when I was your age we didn’t even have running water. We had to carry all our water in from the pump. That’s why we only took baths once a week and we all used the same water. I was the youngest so it was pretty dirty and cool by the time I got in. Believe it or not, things have gotten better.”
While we were finishing the dishes, Grandpa got an old galvanized tub from the porch and began filling it with hot water. When it was full he said, “OK, Gregory, you first.”
“Here?” I asked, amazed. “Why don’t you have a bathtub in the lavatory?”
“Because there wasn’t room when we put in the plumbing for the toilet and sink.”
“I’ll pass,” I said, although secretly I longed to get into the hot water and soak.
“Nope,” was the reply. “Everybody bathes on Saturday night so we’ll be clean to go to church on Sunday.”
Church! I moaned to myself. What’s next? I stripped off my clothes and got into the tub. Grandpa informed me that I had five minutes, which barely gave me time to clean myself and no time for the pleasure of a soak.
As I bathed, Grandpa said, “Tomorrow’s Sunday, which means that usually we don’t do any work except the morning and evening chores. We get up an hour later, and after chores and breakfast we’ll put on our good clothes and go to church.”
Getting out of the tub, I wrapped a towel around myself and, shivering a little in the cool evening air, went upstairs, put on my under shorts and fell into bed, exhausted. When Derek, and then Teddy came up they too went directly to bed.
As we lay in bed, Teddy asked, “Gregory, have you ever been to a church?”
“Nope and I don’t wanna go tomorrow, but I don’t guess that old man will give us a choice.”
“You shouldn’t call him that,” said Derek. “He’s Grandpa.”
“To me he’s just a fucking, meddling old man. Now shut up and get into bed.”
Derek looked stricken, but did as he was told. He lay in bed, tears in his eyes. I don’t think I had ever talked to him like that. I had always taken care of him and loved him. I still loved him of course but I didn’t feel like apologizing. Confused and hurt, he finally dozed off.
Teddy had gotten over the habit of crawling into my bed and, to be honest, I sometimes missed the little guy next to me, but of course I’d never admit it. Sighing, I rolled over and went to sleep.
At breakfast as I sat glumly at the table, Grandpa said quietly, “Gregory. I’m sorry you lost your mother and father. I had a lot of loss too, and I know life isn’t always fair. But I also know that we have to move on.”
I sat silently, thinking and wondering if he’d had any loss besides Grandma and Dad, but I didn’t say anything.
The church was a classic New England white church, complete with steeple. The four of us walked into a vestibule and then into the very plain nave with its light blue walls and its tall, clear glass windows which looked out on the village green and buildings. In the front was a little stage with two high-backed chairs and two wooden lecterns, the one on the right holding a Bible. Centered on the floor in front of the stage was a plain table with a white linen runner on it, a plain brass cross, and two candlesticks. To each side of the stage were pews for the choir and against the front wall was a small pipe organ, which, when first turned on, wheezed and groaned, but then settled down to make music.
Before the service began, we looked around and read the pamphlets, which gave the order of service and announcements. On the back was a short history of the building, which had been built in the late 1700s.
Teddy was fascinated by the service; Derek was interested; I was bored. The others sang the hymns and said the amens; I didn’t. Grandpa read the lessons that morning. The minister, a small, dried up old man with little hair except in his nose and ears, gave a long, tedious sermon, and then it was over. We all went to the coffee hour, where Grandpa introduced us to the other adults while a few children from school ran around outside playing tag as Teddy watched enviously from a window.
After we had had our noontime dinner, Grandpa told us we should change into our everyday clothes and then the afternoon was ours until it was time for chores.
Derek and I got out our lacrosse sticks and made desultory tosses back and forth for a while but finally gave it up.
“What should we do?” Derek asked.
“Well, there’s no TV and no internet, so I don’t know what we do. Just sit and be bored, I guess.”
Teddy went inside to ask our grandfather what there was to do. He simply said, “Explore.”
So we walked over to the barn and climbed up to the loft, where we hadn’t ventured before. It was half-filled with bales of hay and there was some loose hay on the floor. Looking around, Derek discovered a trap door in the floor. Opening it and looking down, he exclaimed, “Hey, there’s a pile of hay down here. Let’s jump into it.”
“Go ahead. ‘Course, there might be a pitchfork in it,” I mumbled, determined not have any fun. Derek jumped as Teddy stood at the trap door and watched. “It’s neat!” cried Derek from below. “C’mon, Teddy, jump!”
“I’m scared,” admitted Teddy.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” I grumbled. Standing up, I went over to the trap door, grabbed Teddy and held him high in the air over the opening.
“N-o-o-o!” cried Teddy before I dropped him through. There was a scream and then a laugh, and then “C’mon, Derek, let’s do it again,” and the sound of feet on the ladder.
The two boys jumped twice more, urging me to join them. Finally, they came over to where I was lying in the hay, pulled me up by my arms and dragged me over to the opening. But when they let go of me I simply stood there, at the edge of the hole. They looked at each other, nodded, and began pushing me through the hole. I struggled briefly, but was soon flying into the hay. “You jerks!” I yelled. “Now I’m all covered with the stuff.” But I climbed back up and from then on we all three jumped. Two of us could hold hands and jump at once, but the opening wasn’t big enough for all three to go. One time, I realized as I was dropping that Teddy hadn’t gotten out of the way fast enough and I was barely able to spread my legs so that I straddled him as I landed. We jumped and jumped, laughing and throwing hay at each other until we heard the old iron triangle on the back porch clanging. We did our chores, cleaned up and went into the kitchen.
All during supper, Teddy and Derek laughed and recounted their adventures. I guess even I smiled indulgently. After all, I realized, it had been the first time in a long while that I’d had any fun.
After supper I took Derek outside and apologized for speaking to him the way I had the night before. He gave me a hug, said that it was OK, and then went back inside to play a game while I sat on the porch, just thinking.