I wanted to simply lie there, but even more, I wanted to be away from that precipice. I rolled again so it was safe to stand and got up. Dust was still sitting in the grass near the edge. I reached down for his hand, and he gave it to me; I pulled him up. Immediately, he was in my arms.
I’d seen the fear in his eyes as I was helping him rise. I walked us back several yards from the edge, then had us both sit down in the grass. He stayed in my arms, which I liked because it gave me something to hold onto, too. I smothered his diminutive size with my arms and body. He was shaking. I may have been, too. It had been a very close call indeed.
It was some time before Dust stopped shaking. I felt him stiffen a little, and I released my hug. He pulled away just a bit but remained in contact with me. “Trav was calling the police,” he said. “They should be here soon.”
“Good. It would be best if we were still here, right here, sitting like this when they come.”
“Okay,” he said, and moved back into my arms, this time twisting around so his back was to my chest and we were both looking out at the city vista far below. “I don’t want to go look down, anyway.”
I didn’t say a word. What could I say? ‘Thanks for saving my life, Dust. I’d be down below, if it wasn’t for you.’ Could I say that? It wasn’t me, and it wasn’t anything he needed to hear.
I wasn’t the maudlin sort and not terribly introspective, either. My style was to do what the moment called for. Anyway, he knew. He knew he’d saved me. He knew I was getting as much comfort as he was sitting together, close together like we were.
I didn’t say a word, but eventually he did. What he said seemed to imply he knew what I was thinking. Maybe he did. He always had impressed me with being smart beyond his years. “You’re the reason I was able to get here, you know? That was all you.”
Thinking about it later, much later, I realized he was trying to protect me from myself. He knew I’d be shaken by the fact that without his help, I might have died. I realized he knew how much being self-sufficient meant to me. But I didn’t realize that right then. I just wasn’t certain why he’d said that. “What do you mean?” I asked.
“You kept getting me up early to run. All summer until just recently, you were waking me from a sound sleep. So now I wake up early, just like then. It’s become a habit. I had half fallen back asleep when I was jolted back awake again by what I thought was someone shouting ‘Dammit’. Then a car door slammed, and when I heard some tires kicking up gravel, I looked outside and saw my father’s car, accelerating away up the driveway. I was scared, but you told me I can’t let fear stop me from thinking, so I didn’t. There was no way my father should have been here. I had to do something. It wouldn't do anyone any good for me to run down to the house and scout around in there. The best thing I could think of to do was to see where he was going in such a hurry. So, I ran up the tree to the platform and focused the telescope on the end of our driveway. I saw him turn up the hill. And I saw you in the back seat.”
He shuddered in my arms. He was reliving it. Reliving the fear and the decisions he’d had to make and the need for them to be the correct decisions. He’d known that this time, what he decided, what he did, would matter, matter much more that what color we painted a wall, or which type of faucet we wanted in the bathroom sinks.
“I knew right away you were in trouble. You wouldn't be in his car, otherwise. I put on my shoes and shorts and grabbed my .22 and took off running, yelling at Trav to call the police.
“That’s another reason you were responsible for me getting here. I ran up the driveway and up the hill in no time at all. I was feeling the adrenalin, but because of all the running we’d done, I wasn’t tired. It was a good thing, too, because when I had to shoot, if I’d have been gasping for breath or if my legs had been shaking, I’d never have been able to hold the rifle steady.”
I hugged him a little tighter. “Dust, that had to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. You shot directly at me and believed in yourself, believed in your aim and your ability. You never could have done that even a month ago. But you had to do it, and you did. I’m so proud of you that I can’t even express it in words.”
We were interrupted then, which might have been good because Dust was blushing and looking like he was tearing up all at the same time. With the arrival of the cops, we could stop talking about this mushy stuff.
They had questions, lots of questions, but we had answers and no reason not to tell the truth about everything. One of the deputies knew me, and that helped, too. Cramer’s .38 hadn’t gone over the cliff. They recovered and bagged it. They took Dust’s .22 when they left and told us not to leave the area, but they had no reason to hold us.
We refused a ride and walked back down the hill together. Dust surprised me by taking my hand about halfway down. He was 14, he’d grown in confidence, but a lot of very bad stuff had just happened and some little boy still remained in him.
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“Dust,” I called out.
“Be right there,” he answered. He’d been folding up drop cloths and cleaning paint brushes while I’d been putting the final touches on the eaves. We’d all discussed it—a family discussion. Pat had pushed for a bright-blue trim color, I’d said it should be black, and Dust had nominated dark green. After much jawing, we’d gone with the green.
He walked around to where I was up on a ladder at the side of the house. I climbed down and handed him my brush.
He looked a question at me.
“That’s all that’s left,” I said, pointing at a small section of unpainted eave. “The final bit. Thought you should do it.”
He smiled and went up the ladder. Even that was different now. When he’d first climbed one, he’d kept his body very close to the rungs and used both feet going up one rung up at a time, much like a two-year-old learning to climb stairs. Now he went up like a squirrel up a tree. My attempt to keep the boys off the ladders hadn’t come to much, and they now scampered around on the tree house stairs and ladders like acrobats.
He was shirtless, only wearing an old pair of running shorts. He was tanned from being outside most of the summer, and it was easy to see the muscle definition now in his arms and how his chest and shoulders had widened. His legs were strong from all the running, too.
He got to where he could easily reach the last two feet of unpainted eave, dipped his brush, and completed the job. Pat was standing with me, camera in hand, and when Dust turned to look at us, his grin showing his sense of accomplishment, she snapped his picture.
“We’re done,” I said.
Dust came down, and, well, I hugged him. He hugged me back, holding me tightly. He smelled like boy, like summer, like memories. They say that your sense of smell takes you back more than your other senses. I didn’t really want to go back. Many of my childhood memories were of times less pleasant than the here and now. Right now, I was enjoying the best time of all, better than anything I could imagine.
» » »
We could have moved into Dust’s father’s house. It belonged to Dust now. He was adamant about not doing that. He loved the house we’d just fixed up. He loved having Travis there and the tree house and the fact every time he walked into the house, he knew he’d helped make it what it was now. Everything around him reminded him of that.
Pat had moved in about a week after the fun we’d had on the cliff. That was good. She stabilized things at home and gave me someone to bitch at. Well, it seemed like bitching to me. Pat would roll her eyes and wink at Dust, and he’d just laugh. I thought he’d be sensitive to sarcasm, what with the jerkoff father he’d had. I’d tried hard not to use it on him. But maybe I’d lost my touch, because Pat and Travis just laughed at me when I was trying to be sarcastic with either of them. Very disconcerting.
School had started, and Dust seemed to be doing well. He was starting to act like a teenager is supposed to act, being moody sometimes and becoming uncommunicative when he wanted to, but being a boy at other times, and a young man sometimes, too.
He and Travis had really bonded, or, to use a more modern vernacular, were tight. I was beginning to think they might go the distance, even though from everything I’d read and heard, high-school relationships rarely lasted through the kids’ twenties, gay or straight. These two really fit together, however, balancing each other, supporting each other, in ways that made it difficult for me to see how they’d manage as well on their own. I knew they’d both change as they grew older. But why couldn’t they change in ways that still complemented each other? Why couldn’t they remain close? I thought it possible that it would happen that way. I hoped it would.
I was sitting on the couch alone in the living room with Pat. Okay, we were sort of cuddling, to be honest. Dust and Travis both had their own rooms and were in them, or maybe both in Dust’s. Travis tended to sleep in Dust’s room. They did their homework together, Dust usually helping Travis. We’d had cable installed and they had access to the internet, which kids needed for homework these days. I’d asked Dust when it was installed if he was going to retreat to his old ways—playing games and watching porn and becoming a hermit.
“You’re kidding, right?” he’d asked.
“No, just curious.”
“When do I have time? I’m running 15 miles a day, I’m lifting weights, we spar four times a week, there’s homework now every night, and I have to help Travis with his, which takes more time. Pat’s teaching me to cook and—”
“Okay, okay,” I interrupted. “I was just wondering.”
“That’s kid’s stuff, anyway, and with everything you force me to do, I’d be too exhausted anyways.”
That was how things worked: I was careful with sarcasm with him, but he had no limits with me at all.
So, Pat and I were sort of cuddling, and I was thinking with that part of my brain that wasn’t actively engaged in the cuddling that I was as happy as I’d ever been, that Pat seemed to be happy, too, and wasn’t it strange that with most women I’d been with, within a short time they’d always bring up the topic of marriage. Yet Pat hadn’t mentioned it at all. Ever. Then I started wondering why I was thinking of it. I never thought about marriage. It was a nonstarter for me. I shouldn’t be thinking about it, and so I put it out of my head. But from that point on, when I was cuddling with her or cooking with her or going to a movie or whatever, the thought kept intruding. It was very annoying.
Dust had been growing during the summer, probably not his major growth spurt, but growing. He was 5’ 6” now and would have been heavier except for all the exercise he was getting. I think he was using up most of the money I’d got from Jim by eating. I’d never seen a kid that could eat so much, and he didn’t seem to gain an ounce of weight. He was wearing his hair a little shorter, but still too long—for me, but not for the other kids at school. I’d asked him how he kept the girls off—he was a seriously good-looking kid—and he’d just smiled. “I don’t,” he said. “I like girls. I have a bunch of friends at this school—that still surprises me—and about half of them are girls.”
“But girls your age are looking for a boy toy to call their own.”
“I just tell them I’m not into dating yet but will come looking for them when I am. They respect that.”
The kid seemed to have all the bases covered. Well, I wasn’t sure of one—he was both a cute kid and a new kid, and cute kids and new kids are attractive to bullies. I’d taught him how to protect himself, but facing up to a bully is something visceral and much, much different from sparring. He’d stood up to his father on the cliff, but that had been different, too; that had been life and death, and I’d been the one who’d needed protecting. Much different situation. So I was still wondering. Then I found out.
I left for home early from my office one afternoon. I’d gotten tired of sitting idly behind my desk waiting for the phone to ring. I’d read the comics in the paper twice and done the crossword puzzle as well. So I finally just closed shop; I still had my cell phone turned on and could take calls anywhere. Any drop-in customers would just have to come back tomorrow.
I decided I’d pick up Dust and Travis, as school had just gotten out. I saw a lot of kids getting on school buses, others fanning out, beginning their walk home. I didn’t see either of my boys.
Driving only about 5 mph, I idled forward, thinking I’d spot them just ahead. And I did. There was a large field they could walk across that was a shorter route than walking along the road, and I spotted them in it. Except they weren’t alone. There were four other kids with them. Bigger kids. And I didn’t like the body language I was seeing.
They were near the edge of the field, close to the road a little farther ahead. There was a wall of trees between the field and the road at that point. I drove on till I was past them the group, then quietly parked and got out, staying screened by the trees. I wanted to see how this was going to play out.
They were fairly close, and I could hear them talking. The first voice I heard I didn’t recognize.
“Travis is a fag. You hang with him, you’re a fag, too. Everyone will know it. You’re not a fag, are you?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t see that that’s any of your business.” That was Dust.
“Hey, you getting smart with me? There’s four of us, only two of you, and Travis don’t count. I’ve beaten him up a couple of times all by myself, just to show him what we think of fags around here. Even pissed on him once. You want to mess with me?”
“Oh, you must be Ockington. I heard about you. About how it took three of you against just him. You’re pretty brave, aren’t you?”
“Okay guys, let’s get ‘em.”
I was about to go out through the trees, but I hesitated. Nothing had happened yet. I could always go out if I really needed to.
I heard Dust’s voice next. “STOP!” There was a pause with no noise at all, then he said, “Four against two. I guess that’s fair. Travis can handle the little guy, and I can take you three. The story’s going to get around, you know, afterwards, that four older guys took us on—and lost. You’re going to look really silly. What are you, sophomores or juniors? Beating up freshmen? Yeah, you’re really going to gain a lot of respect for that, even if you do win. But you won’t. If you were smart, Carl—” Dust drew out the name both sarcastically and disparagingly “—you’d just fight me all by yourself. You wouldn’t look so bad that way. You probably think you can take me. You outweigh me by what, maybe 50 pounds, and are five or six inches taller? Who knows? You might have a chance—if you know how to fight.”
Dust’s voice had been getting clearer as he’d been speaking. I realized it was because he’d been coming closer to me. He didn’t sound scared at all. He was speaking very matter-of-factly, like he was the one in charge here, and I wondered what the kid he was facing thought of that. Bullies prefer their victims to be scared of them. It’s a large part of their pleasure.
“But you don’t really know much about fighting, do you?” Dust was continuing to talk. “Look at the mistake you’ve made already. You let me back up to this tree. Now it has to be just you, because your buddies can’t stand behind me. So, are you ready for this? Come on. I am.”
I didn’t hear anything for a moment, and then Dust spoke again. “You can’t back out now, Carl. All your friends are watching you. How embarrassing would that be, you backing down from a little freshman? You a coward after all, Carl?”
“Okay, you’re going to get it, fag!”
“HOLD IT!” I was surprised at the command in Dust’s voice. Carl must have been, too, because I didn’t hear any fighting. He must have stopped.
“I really don’t want to hurt you, Carl, but if you come at me like that, I’ll have no choice. But look at you! Your feet are all wrong; you don’t have your hands in the right position; you’re not set up right for this at all. All you can do, the way you’re standing now, is to charge me. If you do that, I’ll simply dodge when you’re about on me, and you’ll run into the tree, either from your momentum or because I’ll help you do it. You can’t rush me like that. You’re bigger than I am but not quicker. You have to use your size advantage and hit me. So, raise your hands. You can’t fight with them hanging at your side. Raise them. No, a little higher. Damn, you’re no good at this at all, are you?”
There was silence for a moment, and I moved enough so I could see between the trees. I figured all eyes would be on Dust and Carl and no one would see me anyway.
I saw just a little of Dust, backed against a large oak, with a much bigger kid standing in front of him, his fists raised to chest level in front of him.
“Okay, that’s better. You ready? I’ll try not to hurt you too badly, you not having a clue what to do against a guy who does, not having as much experience as I do. I don’t like taking advantage of anyone. The thing is, your feet are still all wrong. They’re set even with each other. You can’t punch effectively like that. One has to be behind the other a little to throw a punch with any weight behind it. Like throwing a ball, you know? You can’t do that if your feet are wrong. Look at my feet. See how I’m standing. See how my balance is distributed evenly? See how I’m sort of forward on the balls of my feet instead of back on my heels like you are? That’s what you need to be doing. Do it like I am.”
I saw Carl look at him, look down at his feet, and then back at Dust while shuffling his feet a little. I could see the indecision in his eyes. Dust probably could, too.
Dust was speaking again. “That’s better. You look like you know what you’re doing now. Okay. Let’s do this. But, just so you know, so you can’t bitch about it later and say that you were surprised, I fight dirty. When someone attacks you, it’s okay to fight dirty to defend yourself, and you’re the one attacking me, remember? This was all your idea. So afterwards, remember that. The last guy I fought was in the hospital a couple of weeks. They set his arm and said it would be okay after some rehab, and they did save the one testicle. Hey, I’ll tell you what. I’ll make it more even. I’ll move away from this tree so you can charge me if you want. That’s probably what you do best, being bigger than anyone you pick on. Move back a little and I’ll step forward. MOVE BACK.”
Carl seemed like a puppet. He just did what Dust said. I think it might have been the confidence in Dust’s voice that was hypnotizing him.
“Okay. Come and get me. And,” he looked over at the other three kids, totally ignoring Carl and the threat he represented, “if any of you guys have a cell phone, call 911 and ask for an ambulance.”
He turned back to Carl. “I’m ready.” He raised his fists, took the defensive stance I’d taught him, and started weaving slightly, side to side. Then he took a quick step toward Carl, who jumped back and dropped his hands.
Dust stopped and lowered his own hands. “That’s smart, Carl; very smart. Smarter than I figured from you. Let me tell you something. I was going to hurt you badly, quite badly, actually. I wanted this to be an object lesson to you and these guys. Something else. If you ever, EVER, pick on Travis again, I won’t just return the favor and piss all over you. I will come looking for you, and I will hurt you then, badly enough that you’ll remember it the rest of your life. I don’t want anyone picking on Travis. I want that to get around. It will, believe me, if I have to hurt you.”
Carl was simply standing still, no longer looking a bit aggressive or intimidating, and not meeting Dust’s eyes. Dust stared at him for a moment longer, then said, “Trav, let’s go.”
I hustled back to the car and took off. No need for them to know I’d seen any of that. I wasn’t even going to tell Dust that what he’d just done reminded me very much of what I’d done with his father, convincing him he was a mistake-prone amateur who didn’t know what he was doing and in the process taking away his will to fight. Dust must have listened when I’d said he needed to have a purpose in the words he used before a fight. He’d done it brilliantly. There was no doubt in my mind, either, that had he fought the guy, he’d have won. Dust was strong, knew how to hit, was smart and very quick. Carl looked about as quick as a sloth. Probably had no idea what it felt like to get hit by someone who knew how, either.