I was watching Dust and Travis building their tree house. That’s what I was calling Dustin now. Dust. He hadn’t told me that I had to, but a couple of weeks earlier when he’d walked into the house—rather defiantly it seemed to me—holding Travis’s hand, Travis had called him that. Then Pat had started calling him that right away, and I liked the way he smiled and the look on his face when she did.
I felt it was about time for him to be defiant, though when I considered how his father had treated him, I understood why he’d been subdued so long. Teens needed to rebel—it was a part of adolescence I remembered almost too well. That he and Travis were holding hands and challenging anyone to object was just icing on the cake. This was the new Dustin. One who was gaining the confidence to rebel. And from the look of him with Travis’s hand in his, Dustin was feeling it was time for him to do more with Travis than simply look at him through besotted eyes.
I didn’t start using that nickname right away. I let it grow on me, first. I guess I’m a bit old-fashioned about changing things that don’t need changing, about fixing things that ain’t broke.
Dust. Truth be told, I liked the name even though I questioned him about it. I asked him, why Dust, when he had a perfectly serviceable name already.
“Travis gave it to me, and I love it. You can use it, too, if you want to.”
See how demanding the kid had gotten? Damn, give a kid a little self-confidence . . . “Sure. If you want me too. But why?”
He’d taken to looking me in the eye when we spoke. “I like it. It fits. It’s got a couple of meanings, and I like the ambiguity.”
I nodded and didn’t even bother to get on him for that ‘ambiguity’. I mean, how many 14-year-olds use words like that? He did, that was for sure. But I was struck by a memory and let the word go right over my head.
He must have seen it. The kid was perceptive as all get out. “What?” he said.
I didn’t see any harm in telling him. “That’s why I adopted my name, too. I liked the fact it had more than just the obvious meaning.”
“You mean your name isn’t Briar?”
I shook my head, laughing. “No! Did you think my parents named me that? No, they named me Brian. But every other boy that was born that year seemed to be named Brian as well, either Brian or Kevin, and, well . . . I always wanted to stand out. I never liked being common or ordinary. One time in fourth grade when I was bored silly listening to the teacher explain the same thing for the fifth time, I was just messing around with an eraser, scrubbing out things on my paper, and I happened to erase part of the ‘n’ in my name. Sort of accidentally changed Brian to Briar. But I liked it as soon as I saw what I’d done. Briar Wisdom. It had a ring to it. I liked both the look and sound of it. Later, I looked up ‘briar’ and found it had several meanings, and I thought they all could be applied to who I wanted to be. It meant things like prickly and hard and beautiful and resilient. So I started telling people that was my name, and pretty soon everyone was using it.”
“Dust is like that,” he said. “It’ll mean different things to different people. But for me, it reminds me of what I was before you saved me. I like what I’ve become much, much more that who I used to be, but I don’t want to forget that, either.”
“No, Dust,” I said, liking the way the name sounded and the smile he gave me when I said it. “I wish you’d stop thinking that saving thought, though. You saved yourself by changing who you are. I wasn’t the one who changed you; I merely gave you the opportunity to change. The fact you accepted it as a challenge and have done what you’ve done—that was all you. People can’t change us. We have to do that on our own. I just helped a little. Gave you a little push.”
Dust shook his head adamantly. “It never would have happened without you,” he said. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”
I laughed. The kid was incorrigible. He was so serious about most things; he had no idea how funny he was—such an earnest kid and only 14.
He was really excited about the tree house. He and Travis had spent a lot of time planning it and arguing about the design. I really liked Travis, and there was no doubt he was great for Dust. Travis was all enthusiasm and optimism and cocky attitude and not much forethought. He took things as they were, accepted them, and ran with them, doing the best he could. Dust was quiet, reserved and thought about everything. The two were polar opposites but got along famously. I loved to watch them interact.
They’d finally agreed on what the tree house should look like and had begun construction. I’d had to laugh. Travis was about as useful with tools as Dust had been when we’d started on the house, and Dust was taking on the task of showing Travis how it all should be done. I heard Dust use the same words I’d used when I’d instructed him. What really tickled me was how much patience he showed. Not that I was surprised.
I’d thought they’d want my help, but Dust made it clear this was their project, so I simply watched and only answered questions when they were asked. I did check that everything they did was safe, but if anything, the place was over rather than underbuilt. They’d constructed an enclosure with windows on the platform, then built a half ladder, half stairway that went up higher into the tree to where they’d put a second, smaller platform with a railing around it. They finished by fixing the inside with shutters for the windows, installing a lock on the trapdoor that allowed them to get in without anyone else being able to follow unless invited, and running conduit for a light fixture and an outlet for a radio and a fan. They’d built a table, too, a bench to sit on, and an elevated framework where they could lay out sleeping bags next to each other and where eventually they’d put a mattress. The upper platform had a telescope mounted that Dust had somehow wheedled me into buying for him.
Pat was with me, and we were watching them put the finishing touches on the place. Pat had her camera and was taking pictures, more of the boys working than the tree house itself.
“I think we’re done,” Dust called down to me. They’d been laboring on it off and on for well over two weeks and I’d been pretty sure they were getting to the end of the work. “Want to come up and look?”
He was up on the roof of the tree house, one of three levels they could stand on: the floor of the enclosure itself, the enclosure’s roof, and then a top platform higher in the tree. The roof had a safety railing, too, and that was where Dust was, up against the railing looking down at us, his face framed with the leaves of the lower branches of the tree. Pat snapped his picture as he was standing there, shirtless on the warm summer day. Maybe she was thinking of another poster.
That first one. Wow. I’m not sentimental, not the least bit, but that poster. It gave me goosebumps, looking at it.
We both climbed up and looked around. I was envious. I’d never had anything like this when I was a boy. Hell, I’d never had the skill to build it then.
“We’re sleeping here tonight,” Dust said, then looked at Travis and grinned. They weren’t shy around us. I’d even seen them kiss. They weren’t mushy, and it had just been a peck, but then Pat and I weren’t too obvious around them, either. But Dust was proud of his relationship with Travis, and I marveled at how far he’d come; he now had enough self-confidence to openly show us what he felt for Travis.
» » »
Jim, the dope dealer-cum-pimp who had kidnapped Dust and tried to turn him into a prostitute, went on trial the second week in August. As the charges against him included kidnapping, and as Dust had been the kidnapee, he was a key witness. I had to testify, too, but the prosecutor saved Dust for last, hoping he’d make an impression on the jury.
I’d tried futilely to get the DA to allow a deposition to be taken so Dust wouldn’t have to face down Jim in court. Dust certainly was a different boy now than he’d been then, but could he stand up to a cross-examination? I didn’t want all his newfound confidence quashed by a malevolent, pernicious defense attorney bent on discrediting him.
Dust was nervous, as any kid would be. I told him to tell what happened honestly, not to embellish, not to include his opinions or anything he imagined but didn’t really know, and he’d be fine. I was in the courtroom, along with Pat and Travis.
It was a small courtroom, not one of the larger ones they used when there was lots of public interest in the case. Whoever assigned the courtrooms had guessed right, as there were very few people watching. But there was a jury, the defense and prosecution, a judge’s bench elevated above all else—a formality that had to be intimidating for Dust. He’d been waiting nervously out in the hall, then called in just before he’d be called to testify. He was sitting in the front row, just behind the prosecution team’s table.
The prosecutor had first crack at Dust. The man was young but had the air of someone who knew what he was doing. He called Dust up onto the stand, then led him through his story. Dust took one quick glance at the jury at the beginning, then never looked at them again. He kept it short and sweet, and his voice got stronger as he went along.
Well, it wasn’t really short nor sweet. He told about being taken off the street after being kicked out of his home, about being stripped naked in front of two adult strangers, and then listening to a naked woman describing what he’d have to do to his ‘clients’ in graphic detail. Dust told how the man who’d taken him off the street threatened he’d kill him if he didn’t perform to the satisfaction of his customers, or if he tried to escape. He described how the man chased him, us, in his car and tried to run us off the road, waving and firing a gun at us.
The prosecutor turned him over to the defense, and I was sweating. What happened now was up to Dust. I couldn’t help him here and was worried all his new-found confidence was in the balance.
The defense attorney started by asking why Dust was on the streets in the first place.
“My father threw me out of the house.”
“Why did he do that?”
“He caught me watching porn.”
“What kind of porn?”
“Objection. Relevance.”
“Overruled. I’ll allow it. The witness may answer the question.” The judge looked at Dust. I thought he was frowning at him. Asshole.
“Gay porn.”
“And are you in fact gay?”
“Objection! Whatever the sexuality of the witness is, he’s still a minor, and it is irrelevant to whatever testimony he will give! This whole line of questioning is irrelevant to what this case is about.”
The judge scowled, but then said, “Sustained.” I breathed again.
The defense attorney changed tack. “So the defendant took you in when you were alone on the streets. Weren’t you glad he was giving you a place to stay? Wasn’t that nice of him?”
“Not when I learned what was expected of me. Not when he made me take my clothes off! Not when he told me the dirty, nasty sex stuff I’d have to do or he’d kill me.”
“Your honor! Would you please have the witness confine himself to answering only the question asked of him and not go rambling off on his own? Move to strike his response.”
The judge nodded and looked at Dust. “You are directed to just answer the questions.”
“Even when doing so distorts the truth?”
I couldn’t believe it—the judge’s eyes opened a bit wider, and he smiled, but then put a stern face back in place. “I’m afraid so. It’s up to these gentlemen arguing the case to get to the truth with their questions. Your job isn’t to help them out. Your job is to answer the questions you are asked—and only those.”
“All right, your honor. I’ll try.”
I saw the judge smile at him then, and thought, my lord, Dust has him eating out of his hand, and all he had to do was be himself.
The defense made another stab. “And the motion to strike?”
The judge looked down over his glasses. “You asked the question, counselor. You could have anticipated the answer. It will stand.”
After that, most of the prosecutor’s objections were sustained. The defense tried its best to show that Dust didn’t mind the idea of turning tricks and having sex with a lot of men who’d pay him for it. He tried to show that Dust liked Jim and was happy to have a place to stay. He didn’t get away with any of it; the prosecutor, with his objections, kept mentioning that Dustin was only 13 when this happened. And when the defense tried to make it look like Jim had only been trying to rescue Dust from my clutches when chasing us in his car, Dust took that opportunity to say how scared he was when he saw the gun in Jim’s hand. It was obvious the jury was totally in his sway, and the defense decided it had had enough from Dust. He was excused.
We had a late lunch. Dust was worn out, but Travis told him he’d been brilliant. Dust looked at me, and I nodded. “Jim’s going away for a long time, and a lot of those years will be because of what he did and what he was going to do with you. I’m proud of how you held up on the stand. That’d be tough to go through for anyone. You did great.”
That got a smile out of both of them, and Dust sat up a little straighter.
The next test would be meeting his father at my lawyer’s office. Before that, however, there was a meeting at the court house in front of another judge.
» » »
Pat had applied for custody of Dust. Dust’s father had stipulated in writing that he was relinquishing custody of Dust; it was one of the demands I’d made of him. While Dust and I had been doing house repairs, Pat had applied for a foster-care license and been vetted and approved. She and I had talked about it and decided she had a much better chance of being awarded custody than a single man had. Standing before the judge, Dust said in a strong, clear voice that he very much wanted to live with Pat and was proud to be in her custody, and so without any delays or quibbles it was granted. We all three hugged each other after that, although I don’t really approve of hugging people in public; it doesn’t fit my studly, he-man image.
» » »
Travis spent the night in the tree house with Dust that first night. Little did I know then that that would be how it would work almost every night for the rest of the summer. I decided, after Travis had been sleeping there for three nights in a row, that no matter how awkward it was, I needed to speak to Dust.
About the only time the two boys weren’t together was when we were running or Travis was mowing lawns. Travis didn’t run. He stayed in the tree house, probably in his sleeping bag, while we were stretching and running. He didn’t seem to have a problem getting up for breakfast, however. He managed that just fine. Not that I minded. When I’d seen him with his shirt off, I’d seen he was mostly skin and bones. Now he was eating with us often, and he looked a lot healthier.
We stretched and took off. I didn’t like to admit it to myself, but Dust was now a better runner than I was. It made sense. He weighed about 120 pounds. I weighed 235. I wasn’t built for long-distance running; I ran simply to stay fit. I’d had no problem when Dust wasn’t in shape and his mechanics weren’t sound, but now he was and they were, and I was holding him back.
Dust led, and the route he chose that day was to go up the hill. He tended to be in the lead a lot now, and I followed. Today, however, if I was going to talk while we ran, I figured I’d better be with him rather than behind, so I hustled and caught up with him.
“Slow down a bit. I need to talk to you, and at this pace I’ll be gasping in another five minutes.”
He looked back at me and grinned but slowed down and we jogged together, plodding up the hill.
“I don’t quite know how to say what I want to say, Dust, but you know me. I meet trouble head on and plow ahead with things. So that’s what I’ll do here.”
I jogged a few more steps, then just came out with it. “You know I like Travis. You know that I’m happy you two are together. However, he’s 13 and you’re just 14, and that’s very young to be having regular sex together. I don’t know that you are, but I don’t know that you aren’t, and I feel responsible for you and for seeing that you’re doing the right thing. My problem with telling you this is I’m not sure it’s my place to. Also, I can’t really explain why I think you’re too young or why you shouldn’t do it. I just feel it’s true. But my feeling is that you’re not ready for it, emotionally. Not yet.”
He was looking ahead, not at me, as I was speaking, and I saw his cheeks were redder than they always were when we were running. I finished and waited for a response from him. And I waited. When we got to the top of the hill, instead of continuing on, Dust turned and ran across the field with me still along at his side. When we reached the cliff, he stopped and sat down on the big rock where we usually sat, where the view of the city was the best.
Finally, he turned to me. “That was hard for you to say, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. I don’t like people telling me what to do—or not to do. I never did, maybe because when I was you age I hated it when adults thought they had the right to tell me what to do. So it doesn’t feel right if I do it, either. But, I feel . . . ”
I wasn’t sure how to say it. He looked over at me and grinned, and then he said it. “You said you feel responsible for me.”
“Well, yeah, I do.”
“And you know what? I like that. I like it that you think you should be protective of me and look out for me. My father never did that. I like it that you help me when I need it. You know what that shows me? That you love me, even if you’re incapable of saying it. I love you, too.”
“Uh . . . ”
He laughed. “And about the sex?”
“Yeah?”
“We haven’t done much. I won’t say we haven’t done anything. We have. But I’ve seen gay porn, and I know what two boys can do. I’m not ready for that yet; maybe Travis isn’t either, but he’s sure eager.” He laughed, but blushed a little, too. Then he finished by saying, “You know, a lot of that stuff I saw, it seems kind of gross.”
I didn’t quite know what to say in response, so I did what I should do more of: I stayed silent.
He was looking out over the city and after a pause, said, “Hey, look! An eagle! I read that they can hover in the air currents rising off cliffs like this one. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? Not too warm at all.” And then, without any pause or change in his voice, as though it was just a continuation of what he’d been saying, he finished with, “So, do you want to know what we’ve done?”
“God, no!”
He laughed at me. I’m mean, really? This was meant to be a serious talk! And now he was teasing me!
“You don’t have to worry,” he said. “But I really like it that you do.”
That was Dust. I never could figure out how anyone who’d had the upbringing he had could end up being such a good kid. That was all him.