“Prayer Hotline…Jesus speaking, how may I help you?”
“Jesus? As in Jesus Christ?”
“Is there any other? What seems to be the problem, John?”
“Oh, you know who I am?”
“Yes, John Bateman, born June seventh, nineteen and fifty, Anno Domine. That refers to me, you know, the AD part. Latin is such an exhausting language. Do you need more?”
“No…Look I…I think I’m…My life is…I have too many questions about…”
“Yes, I understand, it happens sometimes, you just have to go with it.”
“What do you mean it happens? You didn’t let me finish. You don’t understand…”
“You think I don’t know? Do you really understand who I am?”
“Well, yes…sorry, Jesus. But I just can’t go through life like this…”
“Well, we all go through a little pain…I was crucified, you know.”
“Then tell me, why is my life so messed up?”
“Every life is important to Us. My Father created all living things and He tells me it was a real bitch. I imagine the engineering alone took eons of time…but that’s not what you’re after, is it?”
“I don’t even know why I’m talking to you? I’m not even Christian anymore.”
“Does the fact that you don’t believe in Me render the message any less truthful?” Jesus asked.
“In some ways, yes,” I responded. “Look, Jesus, this isn’t a put down on Christianity. I respect other people’s beliefs, but we’re killing innocent people here in a horrible war. All that stuff about loving one another, it just isn’t working.”
“I know and it saddens me,” Jesus said. “Is there anything specific I can help you with?”
“I’m scared, they’re planning a lottery for the draft…I could get sent to Vietnam. I don’t believe in killing anything, war is immoral. Can’t you put a stop to it?”
“I already said my piece and made my exit,” Jesus said. “You won’t be in the lottery until next year and you’ll have a high enough number…I can’t say more. But you’re not suggesting that it’s time for me to come back…are you? Fortunately for the human race that’s not an option at this time.”
“No…No way, I’m not asking for the end of the world…Can you really do that?
“Don’t ask and I won’t tell,” Jesus chuckled.
“I just want some validation of my existence in a peaceful way,” I said. “I don’t want to end my life in some rice paddy, is that too much to ask?”
“I’ll tell you what. I think mankind is on the brink of a huge disaster and it’s all We can do to prevent total chaos. It’s the same old us and them, good versus evil.”
“You’re saying the Vietnam War is a result of the devil at work? That’s absurd.”
“There is no devil on Earth, John, only man. People have the capacity for good or evil depending upon their nature.”
“So there is no hell?”
“I didn’t say that. Do you know what it’s like to be an only child in a Jewish family? It’s my idea of hell, I’ll tell you. Thank goodness that Mary and Joseph were good Jews and they had…but I can’t tell you that either.
“Look, I told Him that sending me down to Earth as a Jew was a mistake, but He wouldn’t listen. Oy, the mess He created with that one little gesture. People have been killing each other over that for centuries.”
“Stop,” I screamed, “This conversation is going nowhere. You could change everything if you wanted. The Bible says mankind was made in God’s image. If that’s true can’t you cut us some slack?”
“Hmm…You’d think so, but I can’t,” Jesus said. “My Father had a really incredible idea a few million years ago and spread life throughout the stars. Each domain has certain rules to follow. Oops, I shouldn’t be telling you this, what’s wrong with me tonight?”
“You mean there are really aliens?”
“Forget I said anything. But what’s an alien, John, someone who is different than you?” Jesus asked.
“I’m seventeen years old and going into a strange school for the umpteenth time in my life. I’ve never been with a girl and they don’t even seem appealing to me. Maybe I’m queer, but I don’t want to be an alien on my own planet. I can’t live like this; I need to be accepted by my peers.”
“And so you shall, I promise. I’ll tell you a little secret, John…Things are going to change for you and all those like you. I make no reservations about anyone who is faithful and honest in his feelings, you are what you are. My Father made each person an individual. You are all perfect in my eyes.
“But I understand you need to hear more and so I will tell you that there is someone out there, someone who’s been waiting to meet you. You will change the world together, I promise. When it happens…Well, then all this pain will be irrelevant, won’t it?”
“Someone…for me? When…”
“Now, now,” Jesus interrupted, “Don’t question my words. I have to go now, there’s a crisis in Uganda, there’s always a crisis in Uganda, but thanks for bringing your concerns to me.”
“But I’m a Buddhist…Why are you here anyway?”
“Because I had the duty desk tonight. You know how that works, you’re an Army brat. Look, all you need to know is that there is only one Higher Power in the universe and we all work for Him. It doesn’t matter that you don’t believe in Me as long as you believe in the truth of the One who made us all. Buddhists are an all right bunch, a little slow off the starting line sometimes, but they have great staying power. Believe in yourself, John, and have a good life.”
“Thanks, but I…I don’t understand…”
“You will, my boy…you will.” The words faded out and Jesus was gone.
I didn’t understand…what was he trying to tell me? Hello? Is anyone going to tell me what this all means?
“John…John, you better be up in there, son,” a commanding voice growled beyond the bedroom door.
John sat up with a gasp and looked for the clock on his nightstand. Nothing was there, the room was unfamiliar. What the hell, and then he remembered. The new house, his room had been changed for the umpteenth time. Now the clock was out of reach on his dresser, shit. He threw back the covers and stumbled over to look at the time.
A rumble of water coursing through the pipes in the adjoining wall said his father was already in the shower. Down in the kitchen, the distant clatter of dishes heralded a new day of housework for his mother. These early morning sounds were reassuring, and yet there was a lump of fear in his throat.
The move from Ft. Bragg had been easy. His father had chosen a nice suburban house, one that pleased his mother. The two-story colonial with the broad front lawn was a far cry from the G.I. housing John had known all his life. He should be happy because his family was putting down roots for the first time. But he wasn’t, there was another obstacle ahead. He dreaded facing another new school.
Whoa, the conversation with Jesus had seemed so real. It was a dream for sure, but he believed in dreams. His mind couldn’t reject the thoughts. He was to meet someone special, but when? This was his senior year, it had to be soon but there had been no time frame mentioned in that conversation. Damn, he hated the pressure; he had to do well this year.
His father had rammed that thought down his throat the night before. Sitting quietly at the dinner table, he had listened as his father laid out the objectives he felt John needed to achieve in this final year of high school.
John’s two older brothers had both endured this same speech and it was supposed to be one of those serious family moments. John had tried to focus on what his father was saying but it was no use, his thoughts drifted.
“You’re the youngest child in the family, John, and the responsibility now falls on your shoulders. There will be no slacking off from your schoolwork. I’ll be here to help you when I can…” The Old Man’s speech droned on, his lips moving but the words faded from the boy’s ears.
In its place a memory returned. The playground at Ft. Hood, Texas, his very first day of school. The blow that knocked him down came from behind. His face landed in the dust and the gritty dirt got in his eyes and mouth. He rolled over to face his attacker and saw there were two boys his age standing above him.
“Aw, the sissy boy got dirt in his mouth,” One of them said.
“My dad’s a captain. You’re the new sergeant’s kid, I outrank you,” The other boy said.
“Kiss my boot, sissy boy,” The first one said.
The second boy looked up and his eyes went wide. “Oh, shit,” He said.
John saw a shadow swoop in from the corner of his eye and the two boys cringed as a form slammed into them and they went sprawling. Brandon, John’s eight year old brother, had come to save him.
Brand, two years older and already big for his age, sat on the two bullies and slammed their faces into the dirt.
“I saw what you did. You lay a hand on my brother again and I’ll tear you apart.”
The two boys screamed and teachers appeared, pulling Brand away to the office. John was left alone after that and Brand got yet another whipping from the Old Man. Life was easier when Brand was there to defend him.
“John…Are you listening to me?” His father’s eyes warned of imminent danger as John snapped back.
“Yes sir,” He intoned, the lump in his throat went down real hard as he swallowed.
“What did I just say, son?”
“To work hard and keep up my grades, sir,” John parroted.
“Good,” His father smiled. “I know you’ve heard this speech before but I expect it will be the last time I have to give it, do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your brothers both did well in high school. I know it’s hard for you coming into a new school once again, but I’m sure you won’t have any problems.”
“No, sir, I won’t.” John’s dinner tasted like sawdust after that.
Nothing in this family was ever more important than his father’s expectations for each of them. John was sure that’s why his oldest brother Frank had moved all the way to Sacramento. He was selling life insurance in far off California, struggling to make it, and his wife was six months pregnant. Why California? Maybe Frank figured his father had never been stationed there and it felt safe. Any job was preferable to calling home and having to admit he was a failure to the Old Man.
John loved both his brothers equally. They had taught him the importance of living in this family and the skills to survive the challenge. His other brother, Brandon, was becoming firmly entrenched on a scholarship at Penn State this fall. He had a brain to go along with his athletic abilities.
But Brand was very much like their father and that didn’t help them get along any better. Both boys had fought their father’s discipline for years, testing each other and yet finally learning to really love the Old Man. John wanted to be like them, only he knew it could never be the same. He was different.
All of them had been brought up to respect their father without question. It was as if they were part of the platoon the Old Man had led in the Korean War. But that had been a nightmare too and it seems he never wanted to be anything other than a supply sergeant after that.
Of course the Army had different plans. The sergeant rose to the top of his grade and became known as the toughest non-com in the outfit. The Army sent him around the world to put things in order and their family paid the price for it. But as it was his duty so was it theirs. He had dragged them with him across the planet and they had accepted the burden.
John had another fading picture in his head of a seven-year-old boy holding a transistor radio to his ear. That was him standing on the parade ground at Baumholder, Germany where his mind first awakened to the allure of music. They lived on the quad just opposite the parade ground and John knew every John Phillip Sousa tune the military band played before he was eight.
Looking back on the early years of his life, John understood that popular music of the time divided up those years. It was the only thing that held true no matter where they moved. Music anchored his sense of reality and took the place of the close friends he never seemed to have.
John often thought that the Purple Heart was a medal which should be awarded to the children of career soldiers. The Army brats of this world were often the first true casualties of any conflict. But the Old Man had one pinned to his uniform and their mother had warned the boys never to ask about it. John knew something had happened in Korea, something bad, and his father still bore those scars deep inside.
Because they never dared ask, for a long time John and his brothers knew little about the Old Man’s side of the family. His father often said the Army was all the family they’d ever need. It wasn’t until John was almost nine years old that he learned the terrible truth.
They were driving north from Texas into the great mid-western dust bowl. It was just before dawn and reveille was still almost an hour away when the Old Man drove his family through the front gate of Ft. Hood. The guard snapped off a regulation salute to the man at the wheel.
This time they were leaving behind the Old Man’s fifth assignment in as many years, and moving was already getting old hat to John. Not as old as the Ford station wagon which kept them on the move. That was always kept in perfect running order. Now it was packed with family and luggage while their few prized possessions were towed behind on a rented trailer.
Crossing into Oklahoma, John sat gazing through the rear window with sleepy eyes at the dry, barren landscape that spread out around him. Brandon was teasing Frank, who had to leave behind his first serious girlfriend and already felt miserable enough. Their little brawl was enough to get the Old Man’s attention and someone was sure to get whipped for that.
They pulled off the road to gas up and the boys were lined up beside the car.
“Brand, I want you to knock off the chatter,” The Old Man said. “I’m sorry you all have been inconvenienced by this new assignment, but you will stop bickering before your mother gets upset, is that clear?”
“Yes sir,” The little recruits all replied in unison.
“Good. I’ve decided we’re going to take a little detour this afternoon and I’m asking you to be a little considerate of everyone’s feelings today.”
No whipping? What was going on here? This wasn’t like the Old Man at all.
“Where are we going?” John asked. As the youngest he could get away with such an obvious insubordination.
“I thought we might visit the house where I grew up,” The Old Man said flatly and they all stood in a gaping silence as he turned away and went to lean against the hood of the car. John stood staring at his father’s broad back, the cloth of the work shirt soaked with sweat in the early morning heat. The Old Man just stood there, his face lit by the rising sun, staring off into a sky the color of beaten copper.
John’s father had never mentioned his hometown to any of his boys before and they looked uncomfortably at one another, unsure if this was a good thing. John only knew that his grandparents had died years before when the Old Man was a little boy. Distant cousins had raised him and at seventeen he had joined the Army. To actually see his father’s place of birth was beyond John’s comprehension.
Emotion was not something they ever encouraged in their father, he didn’t always control his feelings very well. Each of John’s brothers had felt the lash of a belt when he was angry. Only John had never been called into the kitchen and told to drop his pants. Not that he was such a goody-goody, but the Old Man seemed to be more forgiving when it came to his youngest boy’s transgressions.
Hitching up his hand-me-down jeans, John strode towards the front of the car and stood beside his father in the dusty gravel. Hooking a small arm around his father’s waist, he looked up. John was frightened at the look of sadness that overshadowed the Old Man’s usual stern countenance. Sensing his son’s discomfort, John’s father reached down and ran his fingers through the boy’s hair.
“Don’t be sad,” John pleaded.
“I have to be, it’s all a part of life,” His father replied. “I was your age when my parents died…it took me most of my life to understand that I still miss them. It was a hard life out here, John. I found a home in the Army to escape this place and maybe it was wrong to run away, but…but maybe this will be the last time we have to move. I sure hope so. Your poor mother needs a real home.”
The dry grass along the highway was coated with a chalky dust that swirled up as they resumed the trip. Some of it rolled through the open rear window of the wagon and powdered John’s bare feet. It would be another hot day. The Old Man pulled off the main highway onto a narrow two-lane blacktop that knifed its way into the rolling prairie landscape.
The old farmhouses they passed looked worn out and tired. Many of them sat deserted now, surrounded by dilapidated outbuildings and collapsed silos. Occasionally, they passed a new farm built right up beside the road. Shiny metal buildings and brightly painted equipment surrounded the modest farmhouses that looked more and more like suburban tract homes.
The car slowed several times, their father’s eyes searching the distance for something. Finally they slowed and turned into a narrow dirt roadway. An old rusted mailbox stood at the corner, the name and numbers faded away years before.
The short jerky drive through the rutted lane brought all kinds of creaking and groaning noises from the Ford’s chassis. John was sure the wagon was going to fall apart. Then all movement stopped and he stood up on the rear tailgate to look around. Ahead lay the ruins of a farmhouse.
Long plowed fields surrounded the tiny decayed farmyard, and the smell of soil made rich with fertilizer assaulted John’s senses. He could see a new farm had sprung up around them, distant silos rising from the furrowed ground like a mirage. It wouldn’t be long before the plows raked their steel teeth across this place and the remains of his father’s house would be gone forever.
They began to pile out of the car but John’s mother called to them as the Old Man got out and walked towards the foundations.
“Let your father have some time alone,” She commanded.
They watched the Old Man continue up the path to the house and stand looking at the blackened ruins. John could tell that a fire had happened here a long time ago. Weeds and small trees had grown up through what remained of the stone foundation. After a while the Old Man turned to the car and motioned for them to join him.
He held John’s hand as they walked through the weeds, showing them the wellhead where water had been pumped by hand. A part of the barnyard had already gone under the plowman’s blade, but they poked around in the ruins and John retrieved a rusty horseshoe.
The Old Man laughed when asked if they had used horses to pull a plow, but the sound quickly died on his lips and he got a faraway look in his eyes.
“We had two horses when I was born, one of them died when I was about four or five. I remember my father putting me up on the back of that old black mare and leading it around the yard by the halter. I learned to ride all by myself when I was six but we had to sell the gray the following year. She cost too much to feed and times were poor. I cried when my father led her down the road to the trailer. I thought it was the worst day of my life.”
He hesitated, the memories painful to recall. But he raised his chin and set his jaw against the emotions, it was time to address the troops. It was time they understood what had set their lives in motion.
“It was only two weeks later that a storm blew the roof off the barn. My father hired a couple of hands to help him fix the shingles and I was sent to stay with my cousins in Tulsa so the men could sleep in my room.
“The fire started late one night and took the entire house in all of ten minutes they told me. The closest fire department was over in the next county, too far to do any good. The neighbors called for help when the flames grew so high all their dogs started barking. It didn’t matter, the house was a pile of embers by the time the fire truck arrived.
“The hired men had run off and left my parents asleep in their bed. The coroner said they were probably already dead from the smoke before any flames even reached them. It was a blessing…a quick ending to a hard life.”
The three boys all stood respectfully and looked at the pile of charred wood and stone that was the place of their father’s birth. The sun beat down on their bare heads and each of them was covered in sweat and dust from the road.
Now John knew why his father had welcomed a life in the Army. Nothing the Bateman family had experienced was as bad as life must have been in this bleak and desolate place.
“I felt guilty for a long time that I wasn’t here for them,” The Old Man said, his voice filled with such a harsh sadness John thought maybe he would cry. “But life became better for me after I moved to Tulsa to stay with my aunt. As a child I can remember moments of joy in my life, but living here wasn’t one of them. All I want to remember about this place is sitting on the porch as my daddy played his guitar and sang to us.”
The Old Man looked around, choking back his emotions and John saw the tears on his face had cut lines across his dusty cheeks. Wiping his face with a handkerchief, the Old Man smiled at them. It was the moment John remembered best, the moment he felt such a great love for his father.
They were his family, standing there, waiting for him to finish. The Old Man squared his shoulders and spread his arms wide.
“I want to thank you all for coming here with me. It’s important for you to see where I came from; maybe it will help you understand our lives together. I know it’s been tough on all of you, but you’ve been real troopers…things will get better soon, I promise. Now, how about a family hug?”
They all gathered in his arms. A tradition they had all shared whenever they arrived at a new place in the family history. The Bateman family shared everything in life; the ups and downs affected them all.
But that day John learned just how important this togetherness was to his father as they stood on that pathway before his ruined past. The Old Man may have commanded their lives as if they were his troops and they never failed to obey him, but through it all he never had to demand their love.
Sadly the trip to that assignment wasn’t the last one they would have to take. But through the grand experience of living in the Bateman family John had been given a free view of the world. Germany, Japan, Hawaii, such exotic and wonderful places. Texas, North Carolina, Florida, but such drab assignments were behind them all now. Here John would settle down in the Maryland suburbs. This time they planned to stay. This time he hoped it was all true.
John could understand why his brothers felt like they had to abandon ship when they came of age. The Old Man’s tough discipline seemed to be aimed primarily at their backsides. But they had grown up wild and almost entirely like their father. John felt the odd one in the house. Maybe he was lucky to be the last in line.
“John, breakfast is almost ready,” His mother yelled up the stairs.
John jumped. Shit, he had been daydreaming since looking at the clock. A hurried shower, a whack at the dozen hairs on his chin and he dressed, pulling his sneakers on as he hopped down the stairs. Wolfing down the eggs and ham under his mother’s gaze, she clucked her tongue in disapproval.
“You’re too late, your father left five minutes ago. But I expect you’ll get to meet some of your fellow classmates on the school bus.”
The Old Man waited for no one. Either his boys were disciplined enough to be on time and catch a ride with him or they got left behind. It was just his way of saying he loved them but there were rules. John had a license and could have driven himself to school. But that required a car, for now he would have to ride the bus.
All summer long as they settled into the new house, John had wondered what it would be like to enter a school and actually graduate from the same place. He had endured eleven grades at seven different schools. His education was a changing gallery of faces he didn’t know and experiences, most of which he would like to forget. The new school, Montgomery High, had a great reputation in the county and he was looking forward to sinking his teeth into whatever social life could be found.
And that brought his mind back to Jesus and the dream. He’d known for some time that he might be a little different than the average kid, ever since the night he had that date with Rebecca Moore. It was easier to understand now what he was feeling back then, but it was supremely outrageous at the time.
It was a dance at what was labeled the teen club on base at Washington Heights which was on the outskirts of Tokyo, Japan. The Army had a way of making these things happen. They stenciled Teen Club on a regulation sized piece of plywood and tacked it to a Quonset hut door, and there you were.
In other words, the event was destined to be a real bummer. Nobody in a uniform could seem to understand what kind of music the kids wanted. The base Special Services unit had provided the records. Elvis, the Everly Brothers and Lawrence Welk proved it was going be a long night.
This was all in the early sixties, but there was not a Beatles record in sight. John had laughed about it, but at the same time it hurt. Not knowing what their contemporaries back in the States were listening to affected all the Army brats.
Becky Moore had been chasing him for three months. She was the aggressive type whose father happened to be the base chaplain. Unfortunately for John there wasn’t another girl in the eighth grade that could match her tenacity.
“Will you go to the dance with me this weekend?” Becky had asked.
“Uh, I don’t dance much,” John said in response.
“Really, what happened? Your mother told my mother that you took ballet classes in Germany.”
John remembered thinking that he might have to strangle his mother for giving away that little secret. But the ballet class had been his brother Frank’s idea. It was meant to train John’s body before taking judo lessons. He knew Becky would crucify him with that information if he didn’t respond favorably. He invited her to the dance.
The old wooden slats in the floor snapped and crackled as the kids made their way across to the tables and chairs set up along the wall. The refreshment stand served only cola and was manned by a Private First Class. Uniforms had surrounded John all his life, this one was just part of the scenery.
“Two cokes,” John requested.
“Coming right up,” The uniform said. John read the name Perkins off the tag clipped over the right breast pocket.
“Thank you, Mr. Perkins,” John said when handed the opened bottles. Becky was across the room talking with the girls so he decided to hang out and wait for her to come over.
Looking over at the Private, John asked the obvious question. “What did you do wrong to pull this duty?”
Perkins eyes narrowed as he looked John over, what did a kid know about such things?
“My name is John Bateman,” John said, “I’m sure you’ve heard of my father.”
Perkins swallowed hard. Oh yeah, he knew John’s father. The Old Man had made his reputation from day one on this post.
“I didn’t clean my work area well enough,” Perkins answered.
“Sorry about that. At least you didn’t draw sentry duty,” John said.
“I’m in the motor pool, kid, when will I ever fire a rifle? Your father is real Army all the way,” Perkins replied.
“This isn’t a loyalty test, Mr. Perkins. I’m no stoolie for my father.”
“Thanks,” Perkins said. John noticed the guy couldn’t be more than nineteen. Perkins smiled and they looked awkwardly at one another until Becky came over and broke up the staring contest.
“Oh this is just so boring,” Becky moaned.
“So go find us a table and I’ll be right there,” John said, handing her a bottle.
John turned back to Perkins and regarded his youthful face, probably from Iowa or some rural mid-western state.
“Don’t let the Bateman name scare you, I am not my father.”
“I’m Larry, that’s short for Lawrence,” Perkins grinned. “Got yourself some nice little girlfriend there.”
John knew the guy wasn’t sincere as he said that, what was he really meaning to say? He found himself wanting to get closer to this guy, but why?
“Sorry you had to pull this cruddy duty post, I’m sure there’s a lot else you could be doing,” John said.
“Naw, it’s all right, what else could I be doing?”
John felt like Larry was asking him something but he didn’t understand. A second uniform arrived to relieve Larry and they exchanged a few words about the inventory of sodas and chips. John didn’t want him to leave, he wanted to talk.
“Guess that about does it for my shift,” Larry said. He really had the most magnificent eyelashes and John found himself staring up into that youthful face.
“Can we go outside and talk?” John asked, not really sure why this was happening.
“Uh, I guess so, but I don’t think your girlfriend will be happy,” Larry said.
“She isn’t my girlfriend, she’s a bitch. Let’s just go.”
“Okay then,” Larry said.
They ended up walking to the motor pool as the conversation grew sparse and John knew there was an unspoken feeling developing between them. They found themselves undressing on a canvas tarp in the back of a deuce and a half truck. The parking lot was dark and quiet except for the whispers of their conversation. It just seemed so natural for John to be there in Larry’s arms.
He’d never been naked with anyone like this before. All these new feelings welled up inside. He was in the arms of another guy, the stiffness of manhood pressed between them and it felt good. But as Larry lay on top, hugging and kissing him the joy caused John to suddenly climax. He gasped at the sudden release and moments later Larry did much the same. There was so much more they could have done but it seems neither of them had much experience at this.
John was big for his age and had that certainly fooled Larry into thinking he was older. But as they dressed Larry asked and John admitted he was only fourteen.
“This was never supposed to happen,” Larry said. “You’re too young and my ass will get in real trouble.”
John tried to plead his case, he felt something strange and magical had happened between them. Larry knew better.
“It was just sex, kid, well sort of. We can’t be doing this, John, you can’t. You need to grow up first, sex will come later.” He was right of course. John knew that he had felt wonderful but he didn’t know how to explain it. Was he queer?
Larry shipped out the following week for a post in Okinawa and John never heard from him again. That chance encounter brought a whole new perspective on life, one that made him ashamed of the feelings and yet thrilled at the same time. Unfortunately sex with guys was not something John could discuss with anyone in his family.
But as chance would have it, here in the ancient culture of Japan, John became exposed to the wisdom found in Buddhist philosophy. He found a refuge from the memory of those disturbing feelings Larry had uncovered, and he began to work his way through this strange new discovery.
Frank had studied the martial arts for years, one of the safe hobbies a kid could have in a military family. He brought home the first books John read on Zen Buddhism and the boy was hooked. Discovering that there was a Buddhist study group meeting once a week at the local community center, John decided to drop in. Instead of joining the Boy Scouts like all his friends, he went to the class and began to learn.
They were an eclectic group. Servicemen, housewives, businessmen and students, all joined together by a common bond. John was introduced to two Asian Buddhists and a gentleman from India who had spent part of his life in a Tantric ashram in the northern provinces of his country.
John learned that the philosophy embraced many cultures and each had a different view. By being the youngest person ever to enroll in the group, John caused a little concern at first. But once assured of his serious intentions they welcomed him with open arms. It was the Buddhist way.
John found in Buddhism the means to focus and elevate his mind to a consciousness that he never knew existed. It didn’t take long to realize that the study would have to become a lifetime commitment. But at fourteen there wasn’t much stability in his life anyway, the Army had seen to that. John needed something to call his own.
At first the teachings were almost incomprehensible to his untrained mind, but John had never shied away from a challenge in his life, it would have been unthinkable in his family. The philosophy embraced pacifism, something he could not easily discuss with the Old Man. His mother was another matter and she seemed to understand his need. It was the solution to John’s youthful obsessions and a source of comfort amidst the raging hormones that seem to propel him forward.
His one and only sexual experience languished in the back of his mind, popping back up occasionally to taunt him. Now he was going into the last year of high school and he had to be careful. Nothing attracts negative attention like the odd kid in school and John felt more than qualified for that post. He was a Buddhist, possibly queer and still technically a virgin. Not good odds from his point of view.
The fact that Jesus had said his life was going to change wasn’t much comfort. John believed in dreams as a window to the inner consciousness, a way of seeing into his deepest thoughts and feelings. This one had been particularly unsettling because he had come away from it with only more questions about himself and somehow had to find the right answers in the swirl of life around him. This wasn’t going to be easy.
The school bus dropped him off in front of an enormous brick and glass edifice, Montgomery High. Dutifully following the signs that directed new students to the gymnasium, John stood in the A-D line and gazed up at the banners hung from the rafters. ‘County Champs, 1965, Basketball,’ the largest one read. Good way to start, he hated basketball.
Montgomery was a huge high school, built in response to the baby boom following World War II. It incorporated all the finest in scientific labs and study spaces for the college bound, along with the auto and woodshops needed for those students interested in technical training
John’s homeroom teacher, Mrs. Babbage, shook his hand when he reported in. It felt awkward being seated amongst a group of kids who had probably known each other for years. He’d been through this many times before and it was never easy.
He caught several girls checking him out and smiled when their eyes met. His take was that the guys didn’t seem friendly at all. When the bell rang they all spread out through the school. It would be his first day of stumbling around looking for his assigned classrooms. Bumped around in the halls as he searched for room numbers above the doors, John already knew what it was like to be on the bottom of the pecking order.
First period was English and that was a plus, it had always been his best subject. All those years on military posts throughout the world had given John a love of literature. He had read an entire library full of books while seeking to escape the dullness of life on an Army base, and it had always served him well in school. John had never seen a television until he was seven years old.
He took a desk in the third row, figuring the front two rows were too aggressive for a new guy. Experience told him this was a good place to observe his classmates. To his surprise, Mrs. Thatcher, the English teacher, turned out to be a young attractive blonde woman about thirty years of age.
“Good morning, class,” She intoned in a deep southern drawl and John saw her eyes sparkle; she thought this was going to be fun. “Since I know you’ll be asking, I’m from a small town in Georgia so please bear with my accent. My other students seem to find it amusing but then you Yankees amuse me too.”
A few snickers around the room at that statement and Mrs. Thatcher laughed.
“I’m joking with you guys, come on, lighten up will you? My husband is from New York, can’t get much more Yankee than that, can you? Did you know that the greatest literature in our nation’s history was written by both southerners and northerners alike…?”
She slipped right into a discussion of the syllabus for the semester and John realized she was a slick operator. Yeah, he liked her right away. While she wrote an outline of reading assignments for the next three months on the blackboard, he had a chance to look around at his classmates.
A few tense studious types sat in the front row. One girl seemed to be writing down every word Mrs. Thatcher said. The second row contained a big jock looking character who might be repeating this class, he didn’t look too happy. John leaned sideways and looked at the row behind him.
Sitting at a desk against the far wall was a boy whose looks startled him. The kid had shoulder length blond hair that he wore swept back behind his ears. It was so white that John thought he might bleach it but then considered maybe the guy was an albino. He had a handsome face, no, he was beautiful, and John smiled to himself, wondering why he had chosen that word.
John had been staring until the boy looked up and their eyes met. The boy gave him a broad smile before turning back to whatever he was writing in his notebook. John looked back to the front of the room but couldn’t get the image out of his mind. Those eyes had seemed to look right into his head
Mrs. Thatcher told them to copy the reading list while she took the roll. John raised his hand when she called Bateman and shifted in his seat to keep an eye on the blond boy. A name, all he wanted was the boy’s name. She finally called out “Alan Sommers,” and the blond raised his hand.
“Here,” The boy said.
The sound of his voice affected John in the strangest way. All the tension of the morning fell away and he felt totally relaxed. He ventured a peek back at the boy, just one more image to carry him through the moment. His eyes met Alan’s once again and they both smiled this time. Everything seemed right in the world.
Millions of kids were growing up in the uniquely American nineteen fifties and yet Alan Sommers knew he was very different from those around him. A difficult birth, he became the first and only child his parents were to conceive. Even then he couldn’t know what a shock his appearance made in the delivery room.
The pale skin that covered his body looked chalky and the white hair concerned his parents and all those gathered for the occasion. After several days in the hospital the doctors told Mr. Sommers that the boy had just missed the combination of genetic markers that would have made him completely albino. The family was cautioned about exposing the boy in too much sunlight and for his formative years Alan was kept indoors during the daytime.
As good Catholics, Alan’s parents never expressed their doubts at having such an unusual son. Instead they went and discussed it with the parish priest. He counseled them to accept the child as God’s gift, but even he was slightly disturbed when the child was presented for the sacrament of Baptism. Most babies cried when holy water was poured on their heads but Alan kept silent. His eyes stared up into the priest’s face and the man felt something pass between them.
Soon after he began to walk and talk, Alan realized he could understand and feel what others were thinking. He didn’t know that other people couldn’t do this; he just assumed it was part of human interaction. For that reason he never discussed it with his parents, or anyone else for that matter.
Alan found this ability fascinating when he finally realized it was unique. His parents had always been straightforward with him so there was rarely a conflict between what they said and what they thought. It wasn’t until he began to be around other children that his ability revealed the duplicity of life. People would lie to him and the glaring conflict between the words they spoke and what he could see in their eyes startled him.
The indoor confinement seemed unjust to a boy who could stare out the window at the other children playing in the bright sunshine. His behavior worsened to the point that his parents took Alan into psychological counseling. The battery of tests he took at age five revealed that his anger was understandable since he was a virtual prisoner in his own home. Of course the doctor didn’t know of Alan’s abilities either.
At the age of six he began school like most other kids and tried his best to get along with the children in his class. Learning provided a much needed outlet for Alan’s mind and he flourished. By then he had learned how to close his mind to the feelings of others.
When he complained to his teacher about headaches, Alan once again found himself in the doctor’s office. This time the medical profession became concerned that he might have an abnormal growth in his brain that was causing pressure and therefore pain. He lay for several hours hooked up to a machine that measured his brain activity.
He was only six years old, but even as he lay on that table hooked up to the machines, Alan understood that no one could find out about his abilities. Discovery meant he would be poked and prodded for the rest of his life. And so little Alan did the one thing he could do to prevent discovery, he turned himself off.
To all outward appearances the boy was perfectly normal after that and the headaches were blamed on fluorescent lighting in the classroom. It took a good bit of self-control to submerge his abilities. But by doing so he developed a greater sense of himself. He knew that what lay within his mind was a wonderful gift and that at some point he would learn why it had been given to him.
As he grew older, Alan discovered that his abilities had some recognition within society. He read about famous clairvoyants and those with the special talent of telekinesis. The boy wasn’t sure how this applied to him but he recognized that people like himself were often considered freaks. He knew he had made the right choice in hiding this power.
Alan began to develop his sense of sexuality in the fourth grade. At nine years of age he wasn’t sure of the feelings he had discovered but like his mental abilities he decided they weren’t something he could discuss with anyone.
The young boys around him were still awkward about Alan’s looks. But things had become better for him when a dermatologist prescribed a skin cream that would allow him a moderate amount of exposure to the sun. As he aged, Alan’s hair began to develop some color and it turned out that he was actually a blond like his mother. He often wore sun glasses to protect his sensitive eyes, but in those years dark glasses were the sign of cool.
He managed to forge a few close friendships with boys his own age. Although the girls in his school found his looks enticing Alan paid them little attention. The silly little crushes these pre-adolescent girls had for him were amusing. The signals he received from girls only served to confuse his developing sexual thoughts.
Alan wondered about himself as he sat naked in the bathtub and stared down at his stiff little penis. Why did it do that? He’d noticed other boys getting stiff in their shorts. His friends discussed sex, girl’s breasts mainly, but Alan didn’t see the big deal.
Alan and a classmate once showed their penises off to one another and then touched each other. It felt dirty and yes, more than a little exciting. This happened a few times with the same boy but they were both too young to explore anything further. Only Alan felt that he had learned something more about himself.
When he was almost eleven, a man in the park stopped to talk with him. The smile on the man’s face told Alan he was lying about having lost his little dog. Instead what he saw behind the man’s eyes scared him. The guy must have realized he was disturbing the boy and he quickly walked away.
A good thing too as Alan was about to reach out and push the man away with his mind. He had never done such a thing before but he was confident that he would have hurt the man. It was then he realized that a powerful ability had returned to his conscious mind. Only now it felt stronger.
The sixties were barely in motion when Alan turned eleven years old. It was an age where his body was going through changes and a host of conflicting thoughts bombarded his mind. He had come up with few answers but deep inside grew the seed of a very disturbing thought. The reason he didn’t like girls was that he was queer.
Growing up in a Catholic family invested a certain amount of guilt and shame in a young boy’s feelings. The rigid dogma of the Church, as Alan understood it, mandated that his thoughts were a mortal sin and he would be condemned to the fires of hell for eternity. Faith, and his mother, had instilled fears of a host of heavenly spies who now knew his every thought and deed. At any time he knew she could call upon an army of saints and angels to tell on him and reveal these innermost secrets.
Alan was most concerned about his guardian angel. The ghostly presence his mother said was watching over his shoulder. Did the angel know of his gift? After all, God knew everything about him, didn’t He?
But he took comfort in the fact that the Bible said he was made in God’s image and that meant his abilities had come from heaven. But his real concern was what God would think about the sexual feelings that were beginning to develop in his gifted mind.
Crossing the threshold into puberty was an event that heightened the awareness of what the priest called evils lurking inside his body. Despite his best attempts, Alan’s hands could not stay away from that forbidden place between his legs. Masturbation became a horrible mixture of contentment and guilt. He was surely doomed to hell.
“Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” Alan intoned at Saturday morning confession. “I have had impure thoughts and performed sinful deeds.”
No, that wasn’t true at all. He had wonderful thoughts. Spectacular visions of his friends running around naked came to him every day. The daydreams of sexual encounters drove him simply wild with passion as he rubbed himself at night and prayed for an orgasm.
He knew that all the other boys were doing the same thing. The raw sexuality he saw in their eyes spurred his actions until his poor penis was sore from the abuse. But he couldn’t tell that to this man on the other side of the dark curtain. A priest was celibate, how could he even know what it meant? Alan wanted to scream out loud, ‘I jerk on it, Father, you know, play with it? My world is all about it—it rules my life.’
“At your age, life is full of dangerous thoughts,” The priest intoned after his confession. “When you feel the urge to abuse yourself say a prayer instead. The temptation to commit impure acts is a tool the devil uses to lure innocent children down the path to sin. Now make an act of contrition and as your penance say five Hail Marys and ten Our Fathers.” ‘
Contrition? Listen, Father,’ Alan thought. ‘I like whacking off. Its lots and lots of fun. How can fun be sinful?’
Having sex with other boys is what he wanted to try. But he could never say that to a priest and just as well. Alan found he couldn’t ask another boy to have sex with him either.
Inevitably his relationship with the Church deteriorated despite the threats his mother made about eternal damnation. Alan skipped going to Mass because he couldn’t believe in the Faith when he knew they had no faith in him. Being queer was unacceptable to The Church and his soul was damned. The final blow came when he was twelve and Alan knew in his heart that he was teetering on the edge of hell.
Being a public school student, Alan was required to take religion classes one night a week. He tried to dodge the bullet but his mother forced him to go. The religion teacher was a lay person and Alan was grateful that at least they didn’t have a priest. But Alan and most of his fellow students thought the guy was pretty creepy.
One rainy night the man offered to drive Alan home from class and no sooner were they in the car when the guy put his hand between the boy’s legs.
“You’re such a big, beautiful boy,” The man said as he squeezed the front of Alan’s jeans.
Alan had known it was coming all along but it was still a shock. The guy had been staring at his crotch while Alan sat in the front row of the classroom. He didn’t need to look in the man’s eyes to know what was there. The thoughts repulsed him and yet Alan found it exciting. Now the guy was groping at the swelling in his jeans and pulling down his zipper.
A hand slipped through the slit in his boxers and Alan shuddered, the guy was touching his penis. Should he let the man have it, maybe it would be fun? The man grasped at his soft flesh and Alan suddenly knew he couldn’t become aroused in this situation. Besides, this wasn’t going to make him feel any better about himself. Alan laughed and pushed the man’s hand away.
“Pervert,” Alan yelled as he jumped from the car. “Go confess your sins to Father and see if he forgives you.” With that he gave the man a little push with his mind.
The teacher looked horrified and accelerated his car away at such a speed that he failed to make the turn out of the parking lot. The crash into the oak tree by the entrance made a huge noise which was followed by silence.
Alan almost felt sorry for the creep as he turned away and walked past the front of the church. He looked up at the stained glass window and knew he wouldn’t be coming back here again.
He walked home that night on the wet streets of his neighborhood and screamed with joy at the rain-swollen clouds above. The pressure of being different was suddenly gone from his life. That night Alan placed his entire burden of guilt on that dirty old man’s shoulders and by doing so set himself free.
Being an only child wasn’t easy. It didn’t help that his parents tried much too hard to make up for the fact that he had no brothers or sisters. Of course they knew their son had been teased about his looks and that added to their guilt. It was quite a feat that Alan avoided being totally spoiled. He had eventually inherited his mother’s proud Nordic features and yet he was rarely vain about his stunning good looks.
But he often posed in the mirror on the bathroom wall, flexing his adolescent muscles and watching his body grow. The face that stared back at him was pleasant. His parents hated all that long hair but Alan felt it was important because it made him look like all the other boys his age.
His body fascinated him, the very maleness of it felt so warm and appealing. He decided his penis was average in length. He knew this by comparing it with other boys he’d seen in the locker room. This very male ritual of exhibiting nakedness to one another was so thrilling and yet terrifying. What if anyone suspected? What if it gave him an erection?
He loved his parents but Alan was afraid they wouldn’t love him if they knew of the turmoil going on in his head. There just weren’t any queers in his family. Alan was afraid what would happen when it became known he was the first.
His family lived in Kensington, Maryland, a nice community a little ways north of Washington, D.C., but Alan wasn’t allowed to go into the city by himself. His only forays into the Nation’s Capital were controlled little visits to museums and restaurants accompanied by his parents and the relatives who came to visit.
As he grew older he began to think that he might find the answers he sought somewhere in that city, but for now he wasn’t brave enough to go looking. Although his parent’s leash pulled him back at the District line, he had the run of the county in which they lived and Alan made the most of it.
When the Sommers family had moved into what was supposed to be a quiet middle-class neighborhood, Alan had soon discovered that in the woods behind his house was a creek that ran for miles. Meandering along the watershed down towards the Potomac River, this ever widening body of water and the woods surrounding it soon became his domain.
Alan’s folks were fairly well off. His father had a decent career with the government and his mother stayed at home unless she was out doing volunteer work for the Church. But most of the families less than a mile away on the other side of those woods were working stiffs who struggled to make ends meet. Because of that, many of their kids had too much free time alone. Alan soon met many of these boys from the wrong side of the tracks out there in the woods.
Alan knew that all boys in junior high school thought about sex. Girls were the favorite topic of conversation. He joined in, trying to be like the others but his sexual tendencies towards boys grew stronger all the time.
As most boys his age didn’t actually know what real sex was all about Alan was still safe. He was amazed at how perceptive he had become about other people’s thoughts. The emotions and intentions of others were almost transparent to him. And it came as a shock when he discovered another boy was thinking thoughts similar to his.
Knowing someone was thinking about sex with other boys was thrilling. But first he had to know more about sex and what they might do together. Fortunately he stumbled across a treasure trove of knowledge.
Alan’s grandfather had died years before but his grandmother still kept her den full of the good doctor’s medical journals and reference books. A thoroughly wonderful room it was too, with shelves full of richly bound volumes, a compendium of human knowledge. Ever since Alan was able to read, these tomes of wisdom had fascinated him when they went to visit. His parents thought it was cute, maybe he would grow up to be a doctor like grandpa.
But hidden away in those mighty volumes was that special secret information Alan wanted, complete with graphic color photographs of unmentionable body parts. And one afternoon he found that special book hidden away on a bottom shelf, the one that had it all.
The book was called ‘Sexuality and the Human Species,’ by Dr. Melvin Stern. It was a veritable manual of sexual activity. Alan secretly tucked it under his shirt and took it off to his bedroom for a little midnight study.
He skimmed all the pages on vulvas and breasts, going straight for the penises and testicles. Such wonderful words and pictures of men with various sizes of equipment flooded his impressionable young mind. Sexual imagery that stayed with him long after all the glossy pages were turned and the chapters read. Alan even managed to sneak the fat volume into the bottom of his suitcase and take it home. It still lay hidden in his secret place, next to the box of condoms he’d managed to shoplift.
His favorite chapter was titled Homosexuality and the Deviant Nature of Man. Doctor Stern wasn’t a very enlightened physician, to him all homosexuals were perverts and deviant beings. But his words described behavior that made Alan tingle all over. Could men actually do that kind of thing to one another? Oh God, he hoped so because he was certainly one of them. At least Alan was forewarned about what to expect when he matured, now all he had to do was wait for the testosterone to kick in.
It might seem amusing that a thirteen-year-old child would crave an outlet for sexual desire by wading through the supposed wisdom of a not so modern medical practitioner. But what other source did Alan, or any other young boy, have to seek such basic knowledge? Everything was kept so securely hidden away, as if by denying its presence the whole issue might just disappear.
The public information Alan did find seemed to point out that queers were bad people. Despite what he read, Alan knew that kind of mentality was just plain wrong. There was nothing wrong with being queer. In fact there was nothing wrong with his mind at all. It was just better than everyone else’s.
By the time summer rolled around events occurred that brought Alan’s search for a sex partner to a sudden halt. His mother had become very ill and had to have an operation. Since his Dad was too busy to stay home and care for her she decided it would be best if they went off to Grandmother’s where she could recover after the surgery.
They packed off to Grandmother’s house in Louisville where he quickly got shoved aside in all the fuss over his mother. It was a relief and Alan did his best to become the invisible boy. All he had to do was take the bus downtown to the YMCA for a swim and then prowl the streets until suppertime.
“What kind of trouble could he possibly get into?” He overheard his Grandmother say to his mother, “He’s a smart boy.”
Their first Saturday in town started off warm and inviting. Dark green leaves on the trees over in Cherokee Park still glistening from an early morning shower. Kids were playing baseball in the fields and Alan was just another teenage boy standing at a bus stop.
He watched an elderly lady carry two shopping bags across the street and plop down on the bench behind him. Traffic was light but the bus was already running behind schedule and his watch said it was ten minutes late.
A green Plymouth pulled up at the curb in front of him and the high school boy behind the wheel smiled.
“Hey guy, is this the road to the U of K campus?” He asked. His mid-south accent told Alan he was a local boy.
“Uh, yeah. It’s about five miles down. Go past the hospital and turn right, you’ll see the signs,” Alan said. Gosh, he thought, this guy is kinda cute.
“Cool…Do you want a lift that way?” The boy asked.
Alan looked him over more carefully. The preppie looking boy seemed a little nervous but his eyes showed no threat.
“Sure,” Alan said, “The bus is late anyway.”
He hopped in the boy’s car and they pulled away from the curb. As Alan leaned over to push down the lock button on his door he caught a look of disapproval on the old lady’s face. Little boys shouldn’t accept rides from strangers, he could almost hear the words forming in her head, but then they drove away.
It was about two miles down the road when the preppie put his right hand on the seat beside Alan’s leg and steered with his left hand. Alan looked over at the boy and their eyes met. He smiled. That look told him everything he wanted to know. In fact, this boy’s thoughts mirrored his own feelings at the moment.
They were approaching the hospital grounds, the very same one where Alan’s mother was due to have surgery the following week. He had been over for a tour of the ward the day before and knew the layout.
“Pull in the parking lot down there on the right,” Alan pointed.
Mr. Preppie was startled when he spoke but made the turn while Alan eased the pressure swelling in his jeans.
“Where are we going?” The boy asked.
“Follow the road and we’ll come to the doctor’s parking in back,” Alan said.
“Does your father work here?” The boy asked.
“No, what’s your name anyway?” Alan asked.
“Steve,” He replied.
“Mine’s Alan. Okay, Steve, are you by any chance queer?”
“Oh, no, I…” Steve started to say.
“Pull over there under those trees,” Alan suggested.
Steve parked the car in what seemed to be the quietest corner of the lot and turned off the engine.
“Tell me Steve, if you’re not queer then why do you want to get in my pants?” Alan asked.
He had to be the most precocious kid Steve had ever met, but Alan knew he wasn’t going give it up without some answers. And boy did they come tumbling out. Steve was so nervous at getting caught at the game he told Alan everything.
He had been in trouble when he was fifteen for fooling around with a young boy and the experience with the law had scared him to death. His whole life the past two years had been nothing but denial, and he just couldn’t accept the fact that he was queer.
“So you’re out chasing boys again?” Alan finally asked.
“I’ve been looking around, you know? I skipped work today just to go driving around so I could think and then I saw you,” Steve said.
“I like boys too, Steve,” Alan admitted, “But I already know I’m queer.”
Steve stared at him with wonder in his eyes and then he began to tremble. Alan knew he would always have the upper hand from then on.
“I can’t be doing this shit, I’ll get in trouble,” Steve said. “You should just get out, I’m real sorry.”
Maybe Alan should have just walked away but Steve was the most mature young guy he had ever met. He wasn’t going to let this boy get away, not with the need he felt and the desire he saw behind those beautiful brown eyes. Alan looked around the lot, not a soul in sight. He turned back to Steve…and his mind embraced the boy.
Alan lay back against the passenger door as Steve’s face lowered between his legs. He laid his hands on Steve’s head and stroked his fingers through the boy’s hair. The feelings were just as he had imagined, but this first encounter was over much too soon.
Although he had now experienced the act it left him unfulfilled. There was no feeling other than the passion Alan had created with his mind. Steve didn’t love himself so how could he have shared that emotion with anyone else? Alan walked away from the car and caught the bus home. He knew Steve would cry when he left.
Alan withdrew into himself during seventh grade. Junior High seemed to have that effect on many students. There were no more sexual encounters like Steve. Instead there were a few occasions out in the woods when several boys got together and showed off their new found sexual prowess. Watching other boys masturbate didn’t rank high on Alan’s list of things to do so he stopped going.
He made new friends at school, tried to read the entire library and worked his tail off on the community swim team. All his frustrations were taken out at swim practice by knocking off the laps with a mind-numbing pace that left him exhausted but rarely satisfied.
The view in his bathroom mirror now showed a sleek, feline body that rippled with muscle when he moved. His skin tone was still less than a healthy pink but he knew that he looked closer to normal than he ever had. Now all he wanted was to feel normal in a world that didn’t know him very well at all.
The chaos really started when he began eighth grade. The Beatles were in, hair was longer, kids smoked pot in the basements of suburbia and the assassination of JFK would hold the country in deep shock for years. The wackiest decade in American history was now in full swing.
Alan had turned fourteen with the realization that life for him was sometimes like living a real funny nightmare. Adolescence had brought along all the comfort of taking a walk in an active minefield. It had been quite some time since Alan had any use for his perceptive gift.
Maybe the pot he learned to smoke was suppressing it, he didn’t care. The thoughts and emotions of others had become just plain boring, or maybe they were all just too stoned? Besides, Alan had too much on his own mind to care what others were thinking.
He knew he was queer. A faggot limp-wristed homo butt-fucker worthy of an untimely death. All these words and expressions his peers used to antagonize one another without ever realizing they had the real thing standing in their midst. Sometimes he just wanted to jump up on a table in the lunchroom and scream at them that he was queer. It would be a thrill for them to discover that he was the homo they disdained so much.
But instead he used that anger to push himself, and he made himself a promise. No matter how hard it got, or how long it took, he would be better than all of the straight boys around him. To accomplish that he stopped smoking pot.
He gained some small satisfaction when his first report card came out and A’s filled the page. Being high on the honor roll gave him status even though the last thing Alan wanted was to stand out in the crowd. Deep in his mind he knew there was a purpose for his gift, he was only waiting for someone to show him the way.