PART SEVEN – Midwestern Medley

Chapter 4: Return to the Land of Lincoln

I hesitated as I approached the door of Velocity Mile, the bike shop that had fixed my bike up during my darkest time. I’d fled from home on my bicycle but ended up shredding my tires and wheels on broken glass just south of Springfield, Illinois, the Illinois state capital. It was also the place where Abraham Lincoln got his start in politics and his final resting place.

For several days, Larry and Greg Hofstetter had given me not only a roof over my head but shown me a wonderful time. Even though we were together for less than a week, Greg became my first boyfriend. It cost hundreds of dollars to fix my bike, yet Larry hadn’t accepted a penny of my money. Unfortunately, my bike was lost the day after I left them thanks to the police in Hannibal, Missouri, who took me into custody.

I knew for a fact that the Hofstetters were in town and that the bike shop was open, but I didn’t know what I’d find when I opened the door. Greg had been fourteen and in his freshman year of high school when I met him a bit over four years ago. He’d be eighteen now and more than likely just finished or was finishing his freshman year in college. There was a chance he was no longer living in Springfield or was still away at college, but I suspected he was already out for the summer and was helping his dad in their store. Larry would almost certainly be inside unless he was off on an errand and had left the store in the hands of Greg or one of his assistants.

Nervously, I pushed open the door and walked inside. At first, I didn’t see anyone, but then I heard an adolescent voice that was unmistakable but sounding older than I’d remembered. “Can I help you?” Greg asked.

I turned to face the young man who’d been my first boyfriend. He was taller now, but then so was I, and he had a goatee that made him look more cute than mature. My facial hair, by contrast, was so light and sparse that I’d yet to start shaving. A look of shock spread across Greg’s face as he didn’t seem to believe what he was seeing.

“Adam?” he asked. “We thought you were dead. The police found your bike, and they sent it back here. We really thought you were dead.” Oh, my god, the poor boy. If I’d known he’d been sent my bike after I was taken into custody in Missouri, I’d have made every effort to contact him regardless of the risks involved.

“I’m sorry they put you through that,” I responded. “I had that bike only one fucking day before the police in Hannibal picked me up. I’d taken shelter from a thunderstorm in a public picnic shelter, only to be awakened by the police the next morning. They didn’t even let me lock up my bike, and I just assumed everything was stolen. I didn’t know they sent it back to you. I didn’t even stop to think that your card was in the pannier case. They never arrested me, but they took my fingerprints, and I was afraid they would ultimately link me to my father’s murder. I didn’t want to take a chance on your getting entangled in the whole mess if that happened, so I vowed to stay away and never contact you. If I’d known what had happened, I’d have contacted you long before now. At least now it’s relatively safe —”

“Damn, it’s too much at once,” Greg countered. “Will you be in town for a while? Would you like to stay with me and my fiancé?” Apparently seeing the look of surprise on my face, Greg added, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have sprung that on you like that. I hope you weren’t hoping we could get back together.”

“No, I’m thrilled for you,” I replied. “I’m not going to say the thought didn’t cross my mind, but you have your own life and I have mine, and I’m probably going to be moving to New York, and I couldn’t picture you living there.”

“I can’t picture you living there either, Adam,” Greg responded. “That’s just about the last place I’d have expected to find you.”

“We both have to do a lot of catching up with each other’s lives,” I said. “How’s your dad? Is he around?”

A look of profound sadness passed across Greg’s face as he said, “He passed away a couple of years ago. He caught the coronavirus, and he had an artificial heart valve. He was born with something called IHSS. It stands for —”

“Idiopathic hypertrophic subaortic stenosis,” I completed for him. “It’s a rare congenital heart defect in which the left ventricular outflow tract is narrowed by abnormally thick myocardium. Most kids don’t even know they have it until they keel over in their teens, often during athletic activities. Conventional CPR is often ineffective, and they die of fatal arrhythmias unless promptly defibrillated. The spread of automatic defibrillators has dramatically reduced the case fatality rate in IHSS. Once discovered, surgery, usually with aortic-valve replacement, is curative.”

“Damn, I’d forgotten how smart you are,” Greg responded. “So yeah, Dad had IHSS and could’ve well died in his teens. He was running cross-country when he suddenly keeled over, as you put it. One of the other runners ran back to the school, and besides notifying the coach, grabbed the AED and ran back out to the field, shocking him within only a few minutes. The other runners tried CPR but as you said, it didn’t help. That AED saved his life. Unfortunately, one of the issues with Covid-19 is that it attacks the heart, and it has a proclivity for aortic valve replacements. The fatality rate in patients with an AVR is 40% within the first thirty days, and even higher if they have type B blood as Dad did. He didn’t last three weeks.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know.”

“You couldn’t have known, Adam,” Greg replied. “So, you’ll stay with us?”

“That’s not the sort of thing you should spring on your fiancé,” I answered. “I have a room reservation at the Wyndham and will plan on staying there. However, I would like to take the two of you out to dinner tonight. Four years ago you took me to Nick & Nino’s, and now I’d like to return the favor.”

“That’s expensive!” Greg replied. “You don’t hafta take us someplace like that. In fact, why don’t we go to Obed & Isaac’s. It’s Billy’s and my favorite place, and it’s like half the price. It’s a microbrewery, and although we can’t order beer, it’s fascinating to see all the craft beers they have on tap. They have the best flatbread pizza in town, and their burgers are so thick, you have to eat them with a knife and fork. I think it’s a much better place to have a casual conversation, too. Nick & Nino’s is so elegant and quiet that the servers can hear every word you say. Here, let me show you the Obed & Isaac menu,” Greg added as he pulled it up on his phone. I had to admit that the environment looked much more conducive to casual conversation. We could even eat on the patio outside. The food looked incredible and was very reasonably priced.

“I have to admit, it looks fantastic,” I responded. “I’d have a hard time choosing what to eat, but I really should take you guys out to a nicer place.”

“Adam, there is no better place as far as we’re concerned,” Greg replied. “Billy and I would much rather eat at Obed & Isaac’s than anyplace else, and once you’ve tried it, you would, too.”

“How about Loukinens’ on 4th?” I suggested as a more upscale alternative.

“You certainly did your homework,” Greg replied, “but Billy and I aren’t all that enamored of fine dining. Nick & Nino’s and Loukinens’ on 4th are the kind of places we’d take out of town guests if we really want to impress them, but we can’t afford to do that very often. When it comes to a place we like to go for a birthday or just to unwind, it’s gotta be Obed & Isaac’s.”

“Okay, but then order some food to take home,” I implored Greg. “Order the cheesecake.”

“Their bread pudding is the best I’ve ever tasted,” Greg countered. “The gooey butter cake is as good as anything you’d get in St. Louis, too. So yes, we’ll order dessert, for sure.”

Just then the door opened, and in walked a young guy who had the curliest blond hair I’d ever seen. He strode right up to Greg and said, “Hey, Babe,” and kissed him right on the lips. Greg turned a brilliant shade of scarlet, which Billy noticed right away, and as he turned my way, he appeared startled and said, “Oh hey, I didn’t see you there. Hope I didn’t surprise you.” It was then that I noticed he had the most vivid blue eyes I’d ever seen. He appeared to be young, like maybe only sixteen or seventeen tops. I had to admit he was one of the best-looking, sexiest teenage boys I’d ever seen, even though he wasn’t my type.

“Billy, this is Adam, and Adam, this is Billy, the love of my life and the man I plan to marry as soon as he’s old enough.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything, but how old are you, Billy?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m still only sixteen, and my parents still think I’m going through a phase. They think I’m gonna come to my senses and marry a girl. They still think that, even after I stormed outta the house and moved in with Greg the moment I turned sixteen. It means I’ll hafta work in the bike shop with Greg until I can afford college, but having my parents pay for it isn’t worth living a lie. At least I can work full time starting next month after I graduate, and then maybe Greg can study for his GED, so he can go to college, too.”

“You dropped out of school, Greg?” I asked.

“I had no choice, Adam,” Greg explained. “When my dad died, he had no life insurance. After Mom went to jail, we barely held on at all. Thank god, we had mortgage insurance ’cause that was cheap. At least, the house and the store are paid for or I’d really be screwed. The taxes and insurance, especially on this place, are bad enough, and I hafta keep a decent inventory or I might as well pack it in. I can’t afford to hire anyone other than Billy, so we’re both crazy-busy, and we still have college ahead of us. The longer we put that off, the harder it’ll be.”

“Have you considered selling the business?” I asked. “It’s gotta be worth at least a half-million dollars, which should be enough to cover the cost of sending both of you to college and maybe even graduate school.”

“That would make sense if we wanted to do something else after college,” Greg explained, “but I want to get my MBA and to keep the business. It was my father’s dream, but it’s a part of me that will always be with me. Selling bikes and fixing them brings me closer to him, and I love doing it, too.”

“What do you want to do, Billy?” I asked.

“I want to be a lawyer,” he answered, “or maybe a doctor, or possibly a veterinarian, but Adam, who are you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Billy,” Greg replied. “I introduced you but was so stunned when Adam showed up that I forgot you didn’t realize who he is. Billy, this is Adam, my first boyfriend.”

“Oh, shit! We thought you were dead!” Billy related. “Otherwise, I’d have recognized you from your photos.”

“My photos?” I wondered aloud. “I don’t remember sending you any photos of myself, and the only photos we took while I was here weren’t fit for viewing by anyone but Greg. You aren’t talking about —”

“I’m sorry, Adam,” Greg interrupted, “but Billy is my fiancé, and we told each other about our past relationships, and he really wanted to see a picture of you. You’re the only other boyfriend I’ve ever had. I couldn’t stop myself from blushing when he asked about photos, so he knew I had them. I had no choice.”

“Besides, those photos are fucking hot,” Billy chimed in.

“You still have the photos?” I asked.

Greg swiped on his phone and handed it to me. There were two photos, one showing my face covered with cum and cum in my hair and the other showing Greg’s face and hair covered with cum. “You’re right, Billy, they are hot,” I agreed. “We were together for only a few days, but they were incredible days.”

“There’s so much to catch up on,” Greg added. “It’s been over four years since we shot those photos. I was fourteen then, and you were thirteen, and Billy, you would’ve been twelve. It’ll be good to talk about it over dinner, but we can’t close shop for another three hours.”

“You forgot that it’s Thursday,” Billy responded. “We can’t close shop until 8:00.”

“Oh shit, you’re right,” Greg agreed. “Thursday’s our late night. We’ll have to stick around until at least then.”

“How late’s the restaurant open?” I asked.

“It’s open until 11:30, so we’ve got plenty of time,” Greg replied.

“Where are we going?” Billy asked.

“He wanted to take us to Nick & Nino’s, Babe,” Greg answered, “but I told him that would be too much. I suggested we go to Obed & Isaac’s ’cause it’d be much more conducive to casual conversation.”

“And you passed up a meal at Nick & Nino’s?” Billy replied. “Are you crazy?”

“You have to agree it’s not exactly the place to discuss things you’d rather not have overheard,” Greg answered. “You don’t know the half of Adam’s story.”

“Actually, you don’t know anything of my story since we last saw each other, Greg,” I added.

“Yeah, but they could seat us at a discreet table if we ask,” Billy said.

“But Obed & Isaac’s our favorite restaurant,” Greg reiterated, “and we shouldn’t ask Adam to take us to such an expensive place.”

“But your father did,” I countered, “and really, I can afford it.”

“That your Tesla in the parking lot?” Billy asked.

“Guilty as charged,” I replied, “no pun intended,” I added after I realized what I’d said.

“You have a Tesla?” Greg asked, obviously astonished.

“It’s a Model 3,” I explained. “The performance model, but it’s no Model S. It costs about as much as a basic luxury car, but it costs way less to operate. For one thing, it plugs into the grid instead of gas pumps, and it’s way less expensive to maintain because it has far fewer moving parts. It’s fun to drive, too.”

Shaking his head, Greg responded, “If I even owned a car and could afford to buy a new one, yeah, sure I’d get a Tesla, but when I met you, you were nearly destitute with only a bicycle to your name, the money you earned from tutoring middle-school students and the clothes on your back. Now, four years later, you own a Tesla. What the fuck have you been up to?”

“Well, let’s see,” I began. “Since leaving here, I was stuck in Juvie in Missouri for several months, faked a major GI bleed, escaped from a hospital in Kansas City, lived and worked with a family in construction and house painting for close to a year, stole a new identity, got myself a job in Omaha with Applazon maintaining data servers, obtained certifications in web design, designed a significantly more efficient data server using circular design and liquid-nitrogen cooling, was put in charge of concept engineering for implementation of the new server design, warned the chief project engineer about the need to vent excess oxygen, redesigned the cooling system after an explosion killed a number of people including said project chief, who happened to be my boyfriend’s father, designed a mounting system to allow installation of the new servers in conventional data racks, albeit without the gains in efficiency, and spent the last two years supervising the upgrading and then the installation of the new servers all over the world. I may have left a few things out, but that about covers it.

“Oh,” I practically shouted, “I almost forgot the most important part. They found the charred, mummified remains of my so-called father at the beginning of the year and tied a shell casing found on the scene to a string of bank robberies committed after I was born. It looks like he wasn’t even my real father. He was just a pedophile who kidnapped me and used me for his sexual proclivities until I became too old for him, and that’s probably why he tried to kill me. Regardless, Indiana closed the case on him, and it looks like I’m in the clear for his murder.”

“Fuck, Adam, I sure hope that was the short version, ’cause there’s a lot in there that hardly makes any sense,” Greg responded.

“I think I picked up that you were kidnapped as a little kid, abused by a pedophile, killed him in self-defense, ran away on your bicycle, came here for repairs, got picked up in Missouri and stuck in the system, faked intestinal bleeding and escaped in Kansas City, and got taken in by a family in return for doing work in their construction and painting business,” Billy summarized. “That’s enough shit for a couple of lifetimes, but that really isn’t the half of it.

“You somehow stole another identity that allowed you to get a high-powered job in an Applazon data center in Omaha, designed a better server, got put in charge of building and testing the server, but there was an explosion because the chief engineer fucked up, and so you not only solved the problem but came up with a temporary workaround. With the pandemic, I’m guessing the need for data servers was critical, which was why they had a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boy gallivanting all over the world installing the things.”

“The identity I stole was of a boy who was two years older,” I interjected. “That was the primary reason why I stole another identity, in addition to trying to cut my ties with the past. At fourteen, I couldn’t do shit without the signature of a guardian. My work with Arturo Rodriguez and Sons was strictly under the table. That’s how I could get away with it, but I couldn’t stay with them forever, and I didn’t want to be always looking over my shoulder. At sixteen, however, with certification from a local high school, I could take the exam and get my GED, which allowed me to finish my studies and get my bachelor’s degree in computer science. That’s one of the little details I forgot to mention, as was my Ph.D.”

“You did all that in four years?” Greg asked.

“I did all that in two years,” I explained.

“Wow! Did I hear something about a boyfriend in there?” Greg asked

“Yes, and it was really good while it lasted. I really thought Shaun was the one,” I replied. “I was a bit worried about dating the son of the chief project engineer, and justifiably so as it turned out. Still, the explosion was truly an accident, but it was preventable, and Shaun’s dad ended up getting the blame. Naturally, Shaun thought that was unfair, since his father wasn’t alive to defend himself. At first Shaun blamed me for the accident, and then he was sent home to live with his mother, and he’s since moved on.”

“That had to be tough,” Billy chimed in.

“Maybe you should go back and start at the beginning,” Greg suggested.

“That probably would make more sense,” I agreed, and so I went back and explained what I now knew about my beginnings and how I’d obviously been abducted by the man I came to know as my father.

“So, you don’t even know who your birth parents were or your real name or even your birthday?” Billy questioned.

Sighing, I replied, “A number of people have suggested that I try to locate them. It might not be possible, but with DNA forensics, a lot can be done. It would be nice to bring them closure, and, who knows, I might have some siblings out there. Because I’m living under a stolen identity, though, it could be problematic until the statute of limitations runs out when I turn eighteen. Identity theft is a federal crime, and although it’s not likely they’ll try me as an adult, given that I committed it when I’d just turned fourteen, it’s a bit of a risk. In another year, I’ll be eighteen for real, and it will be a moot point. Maybe then I’ll try to find them, but not before.”

I went on to explain how I made plans to run away, expecting to have to do so when I turned sixteen – not thirteen. I told of how my so-called father tried to kill me and how I killed him instead and then did my best to cover my tracks, not realizing that a shell casing had been ejected from the gun and rolled out of sight. I told of how I rode my bike initially to Bloomington and picked up supplies along the way, only to have them stolen while I ate lunch in a Chipotle restaurant, and how I had to start over in provisioning for my flight from Indiana. I told of my watching The Last Jedi on the big screen in 3D, my first ever time watching a movie in a real theater. I told of traveling through Illinois and riding over glass, necessitating my stop in Springfield.

It was as I was finishing up talking about that first leg of my journey that a customer entered the shop, and I had to stop while Greg and Billy showed the mother and her son a variety of bicycles and patiently let the boy ride them in the parking lot before selecting one of them to ride around the block. Not only did they purchase the bike, which was one of the more expensive models, but the mother also purchased a number of accessories for the bike as well as a decent helmet. For my thirteenth birthday I’d bought myself a used bike that initially cost well over a thousand dollars, but I only paid $240 for it. The boy looked to be about twelve or maybe thirteen, and his mother spent over two grand on a new bike and accessories for him.

“Well, that helped keep the lights on,” Greg commented.

Continuing my story, I explained how I sought shelter from a torrential thunderstorm in a picnic shelter, only to be awakened by a police officer the following morning. “I only wanted to see Hannibal because it was the home of Samuel Clemens, who was perhaps the greatest American author of all time. The officer asked me what I was doing sleeping in a picnic shelter and when I couldn’t tell him, he summarily shoved me into his car and took me to the police station, where I was formally booked and sent to a juvenile detention center in the middle of nowhere. I hadn’t bothered to lock up my bike ’cause what thief would steal a bike with the owner sleeping only a few feet away from it? I’d left everything unlocked and out in the open, and the officer just left it there for someone to steal.”

“Except they didn’t,” Greg countered. “He must’ve radioed for someone else to pick it up ’cause they sent all of your things back to us a few months later. A letter sent with your stuff explained that it had been found abandoned in a city park a few days after you left us, and it went unclaimed for the requisite ninety days. They found our shop’s card inside the pannier case, so they sent the bike and all your belongings to us. You can see why we thought you were dead. Anyway, before you leave, remind me to get everything for you.”

“You still have it?” I asked, incredulous that he’d held onto my bicycle.

“I couldn’t bring myself to throw any of it away, and then Dad passed, and your stuff’s been sitting in the basement ever since,” Greg replied. “Now please go on.”

Describing my ordeal in juvenile custody proved to be much more difficult than I’d expected, and I broke down and cried several times during the retelling of it. Greg and Billy were incredibly patient with me, for which I was grateful. I quickly came to appreciate Billy’s influence, as he had a calming demeanor that had clearly rubbed off on Greg. They both laughed hysterically, however, when I described my use of spinach and bismuth to feign gastrointestinal hemorrhage and then orchestrated my escape from a hospital clinic in Kansas City. However, the were awed when I told them the story about how I was rescued by the Rodriguez family.

“Fuck, that’s almost enough to make you believe in God,” Billy exclaimed.

“You aren’t gonna change your mind on that, are you?” Greg asked.

“No, but you hafta admit, if it happened by coincidence, it was truly miraculous,” Billy countered.

“I’m not at all religious,” I chimed in, “but I’ve sometimes wondered if I have a guardian angel watching out for me. Everything else that’s happened ever since has resulted because I met the Rodriguez family on that day. Even stranger yet is that they hired me because the bastard of a man I thought was my father taught me the right way to paint a house. I’ve wasted quite a few neurons ever since wondering why such an evil man, a man who kidnapped a young boy to feed his sexual perversion, who cheated on welfare, cheated in not paying taxes, stole electricity and cable TV and lived as a squatter in an abandoned shack would give a fuck about the quality of the workmanship in the houses he painted. It was one of the reasons people hired him, though, but to me it was the reason I got the job from the family that saved my life.

“I don’t particularly believe in God, but I don’t not believe, either. I don’t consider myself an atheist, but I don’t believe in any organized religion, and I’ve avoided going to church. The Rodriguez family always went to church every Sunday, but they left it up to me, and I didn’t go. They were Catholics, but they didn’t judge people, and their church welcomed their own son even knowing he was gay.”

“The Rodriguez’s had a gay son?” Greg asked.

“Yes, and he was my age, too,” I answered. “In answer to your next question, we had sex now and then, but we were never boyfriends. I guess you’d call us fuck buddies. The bottom line with respect to religion and God is that I have no use for organized religion, and I neither believe nor disbelieve in a god. I consider myself a radical agnostic because I’m very active in my lack of interest. If there is a god, he, she or it doesn’t give a fuck whether or not we believe in them. Why would they? If they did, they’re certainly not the kind of god I’d want to believe in.

“If there was a god or a guardian angel or some other paranormal entity that sent me to the Rodriguez family, it was up to me to use it to make something of my life, and I have ever since.”

“Damn, that’s really profound,” Billy responded. “I like that term, radical agnostic. It fits the way I feel. Maybe you should start your own ministry.”

Laughing, I replied, “I think I’ll pass on that.”