The Outcasts

By Cole Parker

Hammil Academy

Berkshire, England

1970

Part 1

1

Mr. Mellanby looked out over the multitude of 14-year-old boys sitting before him.  All were wearing their ties and jackets, all were looking up at him in as he stood on his podium next to his desk.  Mr. Mellanby almost never moved to the floor in front of the podium.  He enjoyed being a bit higher than his students.  He also thought being so situated was quite fitting and proper in the natural order of things; he felt this was where he belonged. 

Such a notion said quite a lot about Mr. Mellanby.

There were a variety of expressions looking back at him.  As an experienced teacher, he was adroit at ferreting out the unprepared students in front of him.  He felt his mission in life was to find these miscreants, these moles secreting themselves in their tunnels of ignorance thinking they could fool him and get away with avoiding their work.  He felt it his duty to bring their inattention to their studies out into the light.  Not a redeeming light, either.  Mr. Mellanby’s light was a scourging one.

Now he scanned the room.  Ranks and rows of boys looked back, many of their faces eager and anticipatory, some appearing rather blank, a few looking worried.  Mr. Mellanby had learned that boys were the very best of actors.  Nothing could be discerned from their faces.  The smiling, eager ones could have spent the night memorizing the lesson and were now ready to impress and earn their marks; or they could just as easily have skipped their prep entirely; these faces accordingly were ofttimes meant only to confuse and had no relationship to the amount of studying they had or had not done.  The blank-faced boys could be simply not on their game this morning, the game of fooling their master.  Their empty countenances did not mean they wouldn’t be able to answer his questions.  And that was what his goal was, to root out the boys who had done a bunk on the lesson he’d assigned.   It was not only his goal, it too was his joy.

His gaze had covered the entire class before he espied Wim Tanner sitting in the third seat back closest to the window. 

Wim was a small boy, perhaps the smallest in his form.  He had the impish look shared by many smaller boys.  He might have been considered cute by some with his fair triangular face, button nose and dark brown eyes crowned with a mop of untamed, dark brown hair, but what was needed to make the picture were sparkles in the eyes and a devilish smile on his lips, and alas, neither had ever been seen on this boy at the school.

Wim sat looking down at his desk.  He was silently chanting a mantra, a mantra that was very familiar to him as he intoned it to himself most days in most classes.  His lips were barely moving, no sound was coming from him, but his monotonous entreaties continued unabated as Mr. Mellanby scanned the room.  ‘Not me,’ he mouthed, ‘not me, not me, not me, not –’

“Tanner.”  Mr. Mellanby’s deep voice had a hint of triumph in it.  He was sure he’d caught the slippery fish he was after this time.  “Please tell us what two armies were involved in the Battle of Hastings and on what date in 1066 it occurred.” 

Wim’s eyes remained cast downward, and his countenance turned sickly.  For a moment, he acted as though he hadn’t heard himself being addressed.  Finally, knowing deafness was not a winning defence in Mr. Mellanby’s classroom and would simply prolong the impending rebukes, he looked up.  Mr. Mellanby was glaring down at him. 

Given his twin feelings of dejection and humiliation, feeling very much alone, Wim wasn’t in the least bit aware of the poorly hidden gleeful anticipation in his teacher’s eyes.

“Well?  Enlighten us, Tanner.  We’re waiting.”

Wim seemed to shrink a little smaller in his seat.  As he was a small boy to begin with, the additional shrinkage didn’t aid his appearance.  It took a few moments, but then, with a sigh as he accepted his fate, Wim sat up straight and raising his eyes and voice, timorously said, “Not prepared, sir,” then slumped back against the backrest of his chair.

“Stand up, Tanner!”

Wim gulped, and shakily rose out of his seat.  This was the part he dreaded.

“Why aren’t you prepared, Tanner?  Too busy reading your cheap adventure novels, I suppose.  Or too many friends to chat with instead of preparing your lessons, is that it?  Or were you just idling away your time again, Tanner?  Tanner, the boy of daydreams and fantasies?  I doubt it, you don’t have the imagination.  Well, boy, speak up?  Why did you decide not to read the lesson last night?  Why do you waste all our time like this?  Come on, out with it, tell us, we’re all waiting.”

Wim fidgeted.  He put his hands behind his back and clasped them together, then let them swing free.  He looked sadly to the side of the room where all he saw was other boys watching him.  Most seemed to be simply glad they weren’t in his shoes, though he did spot one or two whom he thought showed some feelings of empathy along with a few others who were clearly enjoying his discomfiture.  He swung his head in the other direction and glanced out the window where a light rain was falling. 

Mr. Mellanby was talking through all this, enjoying himself and his one-sided peroration.  “Tanner, there’s nothing outside that will help you.  Turn around and look at me, Tanner.  I’m the one you need to answer.  Stop dawdling, Tanner.  Out with it.  We’re waiting, Tanner.  We’re waiting!  Why are you unprepared?  Enlighten us!”

Wim looked down at his shoes but found no relief there.  His eyes fell on the shoes of other boys and he noted a few untied laces.  He didn’t really entertain Mr. Mellanby’s question.   He knew the answer, of course, but it wouldn’t suffice, and he couldn’t articulate it in any event.  His only option was to stand where he was until the hurricane slackened.

He looked back up, and was impaled by Mr. Mellanby’s scowl.  That didn’t help his thinking in any way.  Being the focus of attention always made him nervous and tongue-tied.  So, without bothering to even try to think of anything to say at all, knowing he’d never be able to actually get it out it if he did think of something clever to relieve the tension, he simply stood.  Sooner or later it would have to be over.  Sooner or later, he’d be able to sit down and go back to being invisible again.

And so he stood.  Mr. Mellanby’s remarks began getting more and more sarcastic, more disparaging, more vicious, finally becoming personal and speaking to the boy’s academic failings, then his appearance, then his character.  Wim simply stood.  He’d changed the direction of his gaze.  Instead of meeting Mr. Mellanby’s dark glare, which he had done but briefly at the beginning of his inquisition, he was now looking somewhere over his left shoulder.  He only half heard the questions and remarks being rained on him.  It was all a fog of words.

“Tanner!”  It came in much the form of a shout, and it stirred Wim out of his reverie.

“Yes, sir?”

“I’ve now told you three times to sit down!  Haven’t you been listening at all?”

“Yes, sir.  Mostly, sir.  I mean, I’ve been trying to, sir.  It simply got a bit unpleasant, sir, and I may have drifted a bit.  Sorry, sir.  I’ll sit down, sir.”

And he sat.  Mr. Mellanby had got red in the face and continued to stare at him.  Wim seated himself and let his eyes fall everywhere but at the front podium.

When the bell had marked the end of the class period, and Mr. Mellanby had kept them an additional four minutes as he always did as a display of his power and importance, Wim left the room at the end of the queue.  He was not an assertive boy, and the rough and tumble of boys who were habitually late and so rushing to reach their classes which immediately followed Mr. Mellanby’s was not for him.  If he were late, which he usually was, his next teacher would realize from where he was coming and excuse him perfunctorily.  He hoped.

2

At tea, Wim sat at his house form table.  Teatime at Hammil was an informal affair, one occasion where boys could sit either with their housemates at the tables where they were assigned for breakfast, lunch and dinner, or in fact anywhere else they wanted.  The school had established this practice to encourage discussions of lessons between boys in the same lessons who were not from the same houses.  Of course, this also allowed for more acquaintances which in the past had been tacitly discouraged, acquaintances with boys who didn’t live in the same immediate houses.

At Wim’s table today there was a selection of boys.  A few were from his house, but they had comrades with them from other houses.  Wim, as usual, was alone amidst a squalor of noisy boys.  As his fellows ate and chatted, he spent his time looking out over the room, watching and musing.  This was his usual occupation.  After a bit of gazing, while drinking his tea and nibbling his peanut butter and jam sandwich, his eyes lighted upon a boy he’d seen before, a boy whose name he knew as he knew many names, but simply another boy he wasn’t particularly interested in. 

Liam Blake was his name.  Although Wim had little interest in other boys, little interest in much of anything if truth were told, he did find one aspect of Blake to be of note, something perhaps to be considered should he feel the will to do so.  It was not for the boy’s appearance, though many found that arresting.  Blake was a good-looking youth, tall and broad-shouldered, though still slender, with curly, unruly and long golden hair that was so light it frequently appeared almost silver.  He had in the past worn an engaging smile, though that hadn’t often been seen recently.  Blake had a gregarious nature and had always been in the center of things, a natural focal point of other rollicking boys.  That this no longer was true, that he was now isolated from his mates, looked strange indeed, seemed in fact to belie the natural order of things, because just from the appearance of the boy, his natural leadership qualities and appealing nature were evident.  To Wim, however, Blake was just another boy, one of hundreds here.  To Wim, he wasn’t particularly good looking.  There was nothing on the surface notable about his appearance that caught Wim’s eye or sparked his interest.  But Wim had occasionally caught himself glancing in Blake’s direction in the past.  As he did so today, he found Blake was looking at him.  Wim quickly looked away.  Eye contact was the last thing he wanted.

Wim wasn’t really interested in making any sort of contact with Blake.  Or with any other boy, for that matter.  He had no real friends, but didn’t feel any remorse for that.  He felt it appropriate to be alone and by now was accustomed to being apart with his thoughts, not wanting what he lacked.  No, he didn’t want any kind of interaction with Blake, he merely looked at him because he looked at everyone, simply curious as to who was where and what they were doing.  It kept his mind directed where he wanted it to be.

Blake was like Wim, a boy separate from the pack, and it was this anomaly Wim found interesting.  Most boys fit in with their fellows.  It is human nature for people to be social.  Boys were especially so.  Throw them together as complete strangers and within minutes they’re sorting themselves out into groups ranging from twosomes to larger assemblies, sorting themselves by personality and interest.  Rare is the boy who escapes this melding.  It is against their nature to be alone, and so everyone finds someone. 

Everyone but Wim, who instead pushed others away.  Not physically, and almost unconsciously, but just by not joining in, not including himself with them, showing no personality or interest in anyone or anything, a separation grew.  After a time, even the most persistent and best hearted of boys will stop wasting their time with someone who is utterly unresponsive.  Of course, this brought the odd remark, the odd glance, and these became at first simply less than friendly and eventually scornful and meant to hurt.  As is the way of things, if Wim chose to be separate from the group, the group decided not to allow Wim entry into it, and what had begun as Wim’s cautious disinterest in the other boys was now an established fact.  They were as one where it concerned Wim, and he was alone.  They had briefly set out to rag Wim, but Wim had ignored them.  He’s become very good at that.  And so, as many members of the animal kingdom do instinctively, the other boys excluded him from their midst.  Many is the animal that is killed if it is different, although some are simply pushed from the pack, isolated on the fringes.  The ant is an example of the former, the wolf the latter.  Wim was treated like the wolf, pushed from the pack, but allowed to survive as best he could on the edges.  The pack ignored him.

 Wim was only vaguely aware why he had initially separated himself from everyone and simply accepted this was the way it was to be for him.  It didn’t bother him.  But he recognized he was different in that respect, and it was this that made him curious about Blake, because he could see that he, too, was now on the outside looking in.  And so Wim did wonder about him, if only a little.  Was he happy?  Did it bother him, this isolation that he existed within? 

They both seemed to be on the edge of things, always at the sides, never a part of the whole.  Wim had an idea why Blake stood alone, why he was avoided by the others.  He’d heard the boys talking.  Even as isolated as he was emotionally, he was still around other boys physically, you couldn’t help but be at a boys’ school, and he overheard conversations.  He had heard what was said about Blake.  Whether the boy really was a homosexual or not, Wim didn’t know.  But he guessed it explained why Blake was apart from everyone else to the same extent he himself was.

Wim, in his continual glancing around the room, eventually found his eyes again focused on the table where Blake was sitting.  As they passed over Blake, he again saw the boy looking at him.  Wim frowned, and kept his eyes moving. 

3

It was later that same evening when the two boys were brought together again by the vagaries of chance.  Wim was returning from the library.  He spent a fair amount of time there.  Most boys studied in their rooms.  Wim liked the solitude he was afforded in the library.  He could sit alone at one of the carrels and not be bothered at all.  His roommate left him alone and didn’t engage in the disparagement he still faced sporadically from others, but they rarely spoke, and the boy’s friends would stop by when they could, so Wim had taken to spending as much time as he could during study hours in the library.  He didn’t use these hours for studying, or for that matter doing much reading at all.  He’d found concentrating on lesson books difficult at first, but lately it had been becoming almost impossible, which resulted in his lack of preparedness in classes.  He didn’t like this, he dreaded being called upon, he hated being singled out, but it was just the way it was.  He had initially tried to study.  He no longer made the effort.

He was walking back to his house, alone in the dark.  It was peaceful, and his thoughts were scattered, as they so frequently were.  He was walking along, feeling the night chill and thinking about nothing really, when something caught his attention.  At first he didn’t notice, but gradually he came aware that he was hearing something.  It was something foreign to the night, and it stopped him.  Standing still, he could hear it more clearly.  Strange, but it sounded to him like someone crying.

It was coming, as closely as he could tell, from off to his left.  This was a large expanse of lawn, set with occasional plantings of trees and bushes to break up the landscape but mostly broad, grassy and well-mown lawn the boys frolicked or slept on during warm sunny days when they had time away from their classes.  Wim thought the sound was coming from a group of trees not far from the path he was on.  Quietly, curiously, he walked towards the sound.

The twilight had thickened and it was now dark enough that he couldn’t see clearly, especially where a group of five trees were standing together.  The crying was coming from within this setting.  Wim stopped when he neared, then approached as silently as he could, not knowing what to expect.

What he saw when he looked around the tree he was closest to was a boy sitting on the ground, his back against the next tree to the one he was peering around, his knees drawn up to his chest and clasped with his arms, his head lowered to them.  He was sobbing, with slight moans of despair punctuating the dirge.  His face was entirely hidden against his legs and Wim would have had no idea who he was, except for the unkempt mass of silvery blond hair on his head, the same hair he’d seen on the boy whose eyes kept fastening on his at tea that day.

Wim’s reaction to seeing Blake weeping was uncertainly.  He didn’t know what to do.  He immediately felt sorrow, for ultimately he was a kind boy, but it wasn’t in his nature to get involved.  Yet he felt for the boy’s obvious grief.  He was surprised at the empathetic feeling he had, because becoming immersed in anyone else’s emotions was now so strange to him; it was like something out of the distant past.

He flirted with the idea of approaching Blake, of maybe crouching down and putting an arm around his shoulders, or trying to think of something comforting to say, but he really couldn’t.  After a few moments, he slowly withdrew, making no sound.  As he moved away from the trees on the soft grass, he was left with the sounds of crying, which grew fainter and then could not be heard at all.

4

The next day, Wim found himself looking for Blake at breakfast.  Wim was sitting in his regular chair, and as usual, his tablemates were talking around him, not involving him with themselves.  Today, when he found Blake with his eyes, the boy wasn’t looking at him.  He was looking down at his food, which he appeared not to be eating but merely moving around on his plate with his fork. 

   Wim wondered.  What was his interest in this boy?  He usually had no interest in any of the other boys at all.  To be wondering about this one took him completely by surprise.  It was outside his normal pattern of thought, a pattern that was very self-contained.  The fact he was straying from it was unusual, and made him do some self-evaluation to find the cause.

Why did he feel anything at all about him?  That was the really strange thing.  He simply didn’t have those emotions any longer.

Not being able to figure anything out, Wim resumed eating his breakfast.  Today was a Saturday devoted to games and there would be no classes this morning, a departure from the norm.  The other boys at the table were busy making plans, those not on a side which was performing today.  Wim wasn’t included in any of this, of course, and now the day was awaiting him and he hadn’t planned how he’d spend his time.  Maybe take a walk, he thought.  The country surrounding the school was gentle hills, some woodlands, and of course the River Willowbeck valley always compelled one to its subtle majesty.

He was among the first to be finished with his meal as he was doing no talking and the others were, bubbling in their enthusiasms, looking forward to their various games and freedoms.  As he left the building, the fields as well as the day stretching before him, he decided to head for the river.  It ran through stretches of woods and open land to the west of the school, and he could easily spend until lunchtime lazily walking beside it.  Having decided, Wim stepped across the path that connected the school buildings and houses with each other and began hiking across the lawn in the direction of the river.

It was then he noticed a figure some distance ahead of him, also walking in the direction of the river.  He was far enough away that Wim couldn’t recognize who it was.  Wim almost stopped.  He almost turned in another direction.  But something about the figure, even at this distance, arrested him.

And then, he knew what it was.  It was the blond thatch of hair gleaming in the sun.  He realized the boy ahead of him was Blake.

While normally Wim still would have chosen a different direction to walk in, one that would keep him remote from anyone else, the picture of this boy weeping inconsolably last night came back to him in force, and he found himself continuing to walk in the direction he’d originally planned.  Whether is was curiosity or something else, he didn’t know, but he did know he wanted to follow this boy.  He was unable to analyse his feelings, but was accustomed to that; introspective he was not, and being unable to decide why he felt as he did didn’t upset him.  He just allowed his feet to move forward.

Blake was walking maybe 100 yards in front of him.  He was walking steadily.  He never looked back, and surprisingly to Wim, he never seemed to look anywhere but straight in front of him.  Wim had been out for a leisurely stroll, but quickly saw that he would have to walk faster than he’d intended or he’d lose sight of Blake.  He accordingly picked up his pace.

Blake headed into the woods that fell in a shallow, long reach down to the River Willowbeck.  It was an old wood of mostly beech and alder.  The trees were not crowded and the underbrush was kept thinned out and so this wood provided an easy walk.  Wim had no problem keeping the other boy in sight through the trees, even from a good distance. 

As they walked further into the wood, Wim realized they were heading towards Stonehill Bridge.  It was an ancient structure, built to ford one of the few stretches where the river narrowed, deepened and was treacherous to ford.  Where the bridge stood, the river was studded with large stones.  At one point in its history, someone clearing the land had brought piles of stones to this spot, used some to build the bridge and dumped the remaining ones in the river. The rocks over time had caused the river to churn and boil and so cut a gorge deeper than the surrounding land, and consequently the bridge stood a good twenty feet above the water and rocks below.

It was toward this bridge than Blake was headed.  Wim followed.  When Blake reached the bridge, Wim was still his 100 yards behind.  Blake walked to the centre of the bridge, then stopped and looked over one side, down at the splashing water that tumbled over the rocks below.  Wim stopped too, not wanting to approach the other boy, just wanting to watch him.  Yet, he felt an urge to continue forward, a need to move closer.  He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.  This was not like him at all, and even as he was assessing the situation, part of him was feeling surprise at his emotions.

Blake stood looking down at the river.  Wim hesitated, then slowly began moving towards the bridge himself, being as quiet as possible and even slipping behind trees where he could to remain unnoticed.

Moving stealthily, he had closed his distance from the bridge to only about 30 yards when Blake moved from where he’d been standing.  He’d been leaning against one of the raised sides of the bridge.  Now, he pushed back from it, looked around himself once, then put his leg up on the side of the bridge and commenced climbing up on it.

His intention was apparent; there could only be one reason for climbing up to where he was headed.  And suddenly, Wim lost his indifference, the desultoriness that had marked his personality for months.  Suddenly, Wim was entirely, soulfully, engaged in the world around him.  He knew he had to stop this boy.  He'd never felt anything so strongly before. He had to stop this boy from jumping, from dying.  The need to do so was so powerful, it took total control of him.  The feeling crystallized within him and entirely took control of him.  He had to stop him! He had to!

“No!” screamed Wim, and he jumped out from behind the tree that had been concealing him and began racing toward the bridge.  As he ran, he kept yelling.  “Stop!  Don’t jump!  Blake, don’t do it!   Stop!  Stop!”

Blake was shocked to find himself not alone.  He’d been deep within himself, working up his resolve.  Just when it had reached its peak, just when he’d been able to climb onto the bridge railing in what seemed to be a trance, he’d been awakened by a voice.  Now, realizing just where he was, he looked down and saw clearly the raging water and deadly rocks below him.  The sight of the rushing water and his precarious height above it was disorienting.  The water seemed to pull at him.  He tottered, looked back again to see who was yelling at him, and his balance began to falter.  It was then that Wim finally reached him.  He grabbed Blake around the thighs, pulling him toward himself.  Blake’s footing failed and he slipped and fell.  He could have fallen either way.  It was Wim’s hold on him that decided the matter.  Blake fell back onto the bridge, onto Wim.  They both collapsed into a heap together.

Blake was on top of Wim.  He looked down and saw a boy he only knew by sight, a boy who had tears streaming down his face.  A boy who’d saved his life.

5

They sat down right where they were.  Blake unfolded and unfettered himself from Wim and together and they managed to scoot over so they were sitting with their backs against the side of the bridge.  At first, neither spoke.  For some reason Blake couldn't understand, Wim continued to cry.  After a few moments, he began sobbing, then wailing.  Blake didn't understand.  He'd been the one despairing.  He'd been ready, in his fog of despondency, to end his life.  And now this boy was showing even more emotion than he was.  Blake simply didn't understand.

His thoughts were a muddle.  It was slowly sinking in what he'd done, that he’d actually tried to kill himself.  He'd been ready to die, and had tried to end his life.  The more that thought ran through his head, the more upset he became.  He started shaking, then began crying too, and as he did, Wim cried with him.

The two boys sat together, holding one another, sobbing.  Little by little, Blake began to pull himself together, frayed emotions and all.  He knew what he'd done.  He knew he was going to have to live with that, and hoped with time to find a way to accept it.  He mentally surveyed himself and realized, to his surprise, he no longer felt the deep despondency that had been affecting him.  Beside him, Wim continued to cry.  Blake began muttering consoling words, but Wim showed no sign he heard him.  Blake then put his arm around the boy, and when that didn't seem to bring any response at all, put both arms around him and pulled him into his chest.

At last, Wim seemed to become aware of things around him. He reached up and put his arms around Blake, then hugged him with all his might.  To his relief, Blake felt Wim stop sobbing, and then shortly thereafter stop crying altogether.  Still, Wim clung to him like a babe to its mother.

Eventually, Wim released his grip.  He didn't seem to want to lose contact with Blake, however.  He remained with his arm and side against Blake’s.  Blake looked down at him, and when he spoke, there was at attempt at wry humour in his shaky voice.

“Hey, I’m the one who tried to kill himself.  How come you’re the one who’s so upset?  Shouldn’t that be me?”   

Wim started to answer, then hiccupped instead.  He got an apologetic half grin on his face.  “I’m sorry.  I’m not like this.  And I don’t think I can explain why I’m crying.”

“You can’t?  Why not?”

“I don’t talk well.  I get tongue-tied.”

Blake suddenly realized he was talking to Tanner, the boy no one at school talked to.  The boys speculated that it was shyness, or aloofness, or whatever, that set Tanner apart, but just what the problem was didn’t make any difference to them; they weren’t going to waste their time with him if he didn’t try to meet them halfway.  Blake now was sitting with this boy, and he felt a strange empathy for him.  And, he wanted to know why, of all the emotions this boy could be feeling, a sorrow deep enough to cause him to weep would be the dominant one. 

“Please,” Blake beseeched.  “I want to know.  Please try to tell me?”  He looked directly into the smaller boy’s eyes, his look filled with not only with his question but also with compassion.

Wim hesitated, then dropped his eyes to his lap and said softly, “All right, I’ll try.”

He fidgeted for a moment, trying to collect his thought.  Then he began.  “I’m usually not emotional at all,” he said, looking up at Blake, briefly, then down again.  “When I caught you, when you’d didn’t die, when instead you fell to this side of the bridge and not onto the rocks, something inside me seemed to snap.  It was a strange feeling.  It felt sort of like a damn bursting, letting loose all these emotions.  I don’t know how to explain it.  When I saw you climb up on the side of the bridge, something came over me.  I can’t put into words what I felt, but I had to keep you from jumping.  I had to!  And when you didn’t fall, I had this feeling of relief that was just overpowering.”

After saying this, Wim’s memory brought his feelings back to him, and he started crying again.  This time, Blake put his arm around Wim’s shoulders and hugged him tightly, and his eyes started running too.

The boys wept together for several minutes, then slowly brought themselves back under control.  Wim pushed back from Blake, but kept looking up at him, then dropping his eyes.  Blake met his wavering gaze.  Then he smiled. 

“I was looking at you yesterday, at tea,” he said while settling back against the side of the bridge and taking his arm from around Wim.

Wim took Blake’s movement as a sign it was time to return to the regimen of well-established habits and behaviours between boys who don’t know each other very well.  He moved slightly away from Blake so they were sitting side by side but there was no longer any contact between the two.  He settled back against the bridge also, and immediately missed that they were no longer touching.

“I know.  I saw you.”

“You frowned at me.  I hope this doesn’t upset you, but that was, well, one of the reasons I’m here today.”

This didn’t make sense to Wim.  “It is?  Why?” 
       

Blake thought a moment, deciding how he wanted to say this.  He began by asking, “Your name is Tanner, isn’t it?”

“Yes.  William Tanner, although everyone has called me Wim all my life.”

“I’ve never heard that name before.”

“I guess I had problems with the el sound when I was learning to talk.  I said Wim instead of Will, and that was what I was always called after that.”

“Well, Wim Tanner, I was looking at you at tea wondering if there was any chance we could be friends.  I don’t have any friends, and it’s been hard.  Well, honestly, it’s been destroying me.  Everyone avoids me, and some of them make remarks.  They all hate me.  I thought I could live through it, but it’s been too hard, and things haven’t been getting any better and the feelings I’ve been having lately, they’ve been getting worse.  I can’t stand the loneliness.  I can’t stand all the hatred.  I can’t stand not being able to even talk to anyone.  It’s been that way ever since Richardson told everyone I’d told him I liked him. 

“I was really attracted to him, and finally told him so, and it ended up that everyone hated me for it.  It wasn’t really Richardson’s fault.  He’s something of a twit, really.  I was attracted to him by the bubbly way he had, for his personality as well as his looks.  I hadn’t realized that what I was seeing on the surface was all there was to him.  I told him I liked him, he thought it was all a lark and laughed about it to other boys.  They didn’t think it was a lark at all.  They thought it was serious, that I was a queer, and they let me know.

“I thought I could live with it.  I found out it was just too brutal.  I‘m not as strong as I thought I was.  Every day, no end in sight, no one speaking to me, unless it’s to say something sarcastic or mean or just really awful.  I couldn’t take it any more.”

Blake took a deep breath, and shuddered as he exhaled.  “So I’ve been in Coventry ever since Richardson.  It’s been wearing on me.  I’ve been getting more and more depressed, and started to think bad thoughts.  Then, yesterday, I noticed you.  I’d heard about you.  The boys talk, and sometimes I’m there and hear what they’re saying.  They said you’re a loner, and they were talking about why that might be.  It was all a lot of crap, what they were speculating on, they didn’t know anything, I could tell by what they said, but the loner part caught my attention.  I started to wonder if you really were alone.  I desperately needed someone to talk to, someone who could be kind and accept me as I am, and I thought, well, maybe you could be that someone.

“So I looked at you yesterday, and I saw no one was talking to you, either, and I was starting to hope, the first time in ages it seems that I actually had something to hope about, and then when you saw me looking, you frowned at me.  That was about it for me.  I realized I had no one, I never would, and what was the use?”

Wim didn’t know what to say.  He was unaccustomed to talking to other boys about anything, recently, and never about anything like this, inner feelings and doubts and weaknesses.  This conversation was like nothing he’d been in before.  This was hearing words coming from another boy’s soul.  He was hearing, too, that he himself had been the final straw for this boy.  He thought how it must have felt, to have been wishing for something with a desperate sort of hope, and then being rejected so callously, so dismissively, like he had been. 

Wim knew he needed to explain.  About the frown.  He felt something for this boy that was new and strange to him.  He was feeling a connection to someone for the first time in what seemed like forever, and it awakened something inside him that he hadn’t realized was there.  He suddenly knew that he didn’t want this boy to misunderstand what he’d done yesterday at tea.  And, more amazingly, he discovered, sitting here with him on this bridge, he actually wanted this boy to like him.  That was incredible.  He was shocked by that reaction within himself, but that’s what he was feeling.  He wanted, no, he needed, to explain himself.  And he realized, he was hoping that by doing so the boy would like him.

“Blake, I wasn’t frowning at you.  Well, I was, but it wasn’t really you, you see?  If any boy were looking at me, I’d frown.  I didn’t want anything to do with anyone.  Also, I thought I saw something in your eyes.  It looked to me like you wanted something from me.  I knew I couldn’t help with that.  I didn’t know how and I don’t ever try.  I frowned because I didn’t want to get involved.  I don’t get involved with anyone.

“But it wasn't you I was rejecting.  I don't know you.  I didn't know why you were looking at me.  I'm sorry I hurt your feelings.  I didn’t know why you were looking at me.  Had I known. . . .”  Wim looked down again, realizing, even if he had known, he probably would still have frowned.  He spoke again, very softly this time, repeating himself and still looking at his lap.  “I just don't get involved with anyone."

Blake grinned.  “You don’t, huh?  You call spending the morning following me across the school grounds and into the wood, you call screaming at me not to jump, you call running as fast as you can toward me and grabbing me as I was about to fall onto the rocks, not getting involved?”

Wim was looking down at the ground, something he was very good at.  Then he turned his head and raised his eyes back up at Blake again.  “I don’t know what to say, Blake.  I don’t know how to explain.  Something came over me.  You looked at me at tea.  Then, last night, while I was walking back from the library, I saw you crying.  Then I followed you today.  And I can’t tell you why.  I don’t know.  I don’t understand it either.  But when I saw what you intended to do, I just had to stop you.  But I’m not really like that.  I’m not worth much of anything, I don’t get involved with other boys, I just stay by myself.  That’s the way I am.”

Blake didn’t say anything for a moment, thinking.  Then he asked, “Do you mind if I do this?” and, wriggling closer, slipped his arm around the smaller boy’s shoulders again.  Wim felt an immediate sense of belonging, of comradeship.  He happily shrugged himself closer to Blake, liking the contact.

“Tanner, thank you for saving me.  Without you, I’d be gone now.  Because of you, I’m not.  For the rest of my life, I’ll remember you, and thank you for that.  Now, as I think we're to be friends, and as I owe my life to you, may I stop calling you Tanner? May I call you Wim?”

Wim didn’t respond.  He heard the words, but was thinking how good it felt to have this boy’s arm around his shoulders.  It was as though he had been starving for a long time and now had a full belly again.  Contentment descended on him, contentment that had long been absent, something he hadn’t known was missing. 

When the silence grew, Blake tightened him arm briefly, hugging Wim, trying to bring him out of himself.  Wim looked up, grinned a little self-consciously, and said, a bit shyly, “I’d like that, if you called me Wim.”

Blake smiled back and said, “And I’m Liam.  Please.  Now, Wim, why are you always alone?  Why don’t you get involved?  Can you tell me?” 

He felt Wim stiffen beneath his arm.  There was silence for a moment, and then Wim replied.  “Not really,” he said.  “Well, maybe I could if I tried, but I don’t like to think about myself much.  There isn’t much there to think about, really.  I never talk to anyone.  It’s easier that way.  I’ve grown used to being by myself and I feel comfortable that way now.”

“You feel comfortable that way now?  So you haven’t always been this way?”

Wim didn’t answer that.  He started to pull away from Liam.  Liam held him, and after a short period of resistance, Wim allowed himself to still be held. 

“Why don’t you have any friends?”

Wim again didn’t respond.

Liam instinctively felt that Wim needed to talk about himself, to open up and let someone else in.  It wasn’t normal for a young teen to purposely isolate himself as Wim had done.  Now he was also resisting Liam’s attempt to get him to talk.  How could Liam get him to do that?  He didn’t want to frighten him away.  He wanted to help him.  And most of all, he wanted him for a friend.  He was desperate for someone to talk to.  Someone who would talk with him.  Someone he could spend time with, so he himself would not be so disastrously alone.

Liam himself had been a very outgoing person until Richardson had outed him and he’d become ostracized by the other boys.  The loss of social contact that resulted had eventually destroyed his will to live.  He deeply felt the pain of being alone.  Watching Wim, seeing him tighten up when he was pressed to speak about himself, made Liam sad.  He was feeling an attachment to this boy, the boy who had in fact saved his life. 

What could he say that would help this boy trust him, help him to talk?  He felt that if Wim could talk about himself, it was very likely his problems could be solved, or at the very least brought down to a size where they wouldn’t be so unbearable for him. 

Liam thought about what they’d said to each other today, and an idea occurred to him.  Perhaps there was a way to get the boy to open up a little.  As the silence grew, Liam was surprised that Wim seemed very comfortable having another boy’s arm around him.  He seemed happy with them sitting silently together.  It didn’t fit at all with the image he had of Wim, the loner who eschewed human contact.  That was perhaps a place to start.

“Wim, you said something a few minutes ago.  I think it was, ‘Something came over me,’ and, ‘I felt something snap inside of me,’ and ‘it felt like a damn bursting.’  Do you remember?  What were those feelings all about?”

Wim had to think about that.  As he did, he sat up a little straighter.  “You know, that was amazing.  I’m remembering the feelings, and it’s strange, but what it was, it was as though suddenly I’d been released from something, as though suddenly I was free.  I was thinking about you, worrying about you, and I never do that.  I never think about anyone else very deeply.  Yet my whole being seemed concentrated on you, and when that happened, it was as though the whole world opened up, like I’d been shut inside a dark room before that and suddenly the door had burst open.  It was a crazy feeling.  I don’t understand it at all, but it felt wonderful.”

“And sitting here with me like this, me with my arm around you, how does that feel?”

“That feels good, too.  I don’t understand that, either.  Normally, I hate any sort of contact with other people.  I don’t know why this feels so good, but it does.”

Liam didn’t know what to make of this, but he refused to be deterred.  “I want to ask a couple more questions, but I don’t want to upset you.  You didn’t mind answering the ones I just asked.  Can I continue?  You can always not answer if you don’t want to.”

“All right.”

Liam laughed, trying to maintain the lightened mood.  “This is an important question, Wim, important to me.  Will you be my friend?  I hope you will.  I want to be yours.”

“All right,” Wim replied, a little bashfully.  The thought of having someone to talk to, to be with, was unsettling.  He wasn’t even sure why he’d said yes so easily.  But the idea did have some appeal to it, now.  It wouldn’t have, before.  Yesterday when Liam had merely looked at him from across the room, he’d turned away from him.  Now, he had without thought or resistance told Liam he’d like to be his friend.  What was it about Liam that, after being with him for only a short time, after talking to him, made the idea now acceptable?  He wasn’t sure.  But the idea of it, of being friends with this boy, somehow held an attraction for him.  It seemed to generate the same feelings he’d experienced running to the bridge, a feeling of freedom.

“Wim, it might be hard.  Most boys ignore me, but a few like to do more than that.  They try to make my life as hard as possible.  They do things when no one is looking.  When they see us talking, they won’t like it.  They’ll tell you to stop, and if you don’t, they’ll start telling everyone that you’re a queer too.  Being friends with me won’t be easy.  Are you brave?”

        “No, I’m scared of almost everything.”

“Maybe we ought not be very public about our friendship, then.  It would be better for you that way.”

“Liam, nobody pays any attention to me.  I don’t know if they think I’m bonkers or a freak or what.  I’ve never cared what they’ve thought.  I’ve never wanted a friend.  But with you, somehow, I do.  And you say you want one.  We can’t be any sort of friends if we have to avoid each other, if we can’t talk.  I’ll be scared if the bigger kids start after me, but if you want to be friends, let’s be friends.  I don’t even understand why I’m feeling like this, but I am.”

Liam looked at the smaller boy admiringly, and his heart warmed to him.  He smiled at him.  “Okay, we’ll try it.  Let’s get back for lunch.” 

6

Over the next few days, the two boys found opportunities to meet.  Liam was having trouble containing himself.  His world had turned around very suddenly.  Now, he had someone to talk to, someone to share his feelings with, and for him it was like being reborn.  He had always been a boy with many friends and had been lively, cheerful and very outgoing.  The past months had taken a toll on his personality, and now he was recovering.  He was regaining a sense of himself, and his sense of fun.  True, there had been no change in the student body towards him; he was still on the outside looking in with regards to them.  Clive Hogsford made sure of that.

Wim was feeling changes in his life, too.  He’d been alone by choice.  Now, by choice, he was welcoming someone else into his life.  It was taking him some time and effort to adjust to it, but at the same time it was new and wonderful.  He couldn’t believe how he felt, just being able to give his opinions on normal, everyday events that occurred.  Just talking to a kindred spirit.  They would share a table at tea, they would study together at the library, they would spend their free time on the lawn together.  They were getting to know each other, and they both found the experience liberating.  For Wim especially, the simple bonding experience he was undergoing with Liam brought with it a feeling of joy, something that had been absent from his life in recent memory.

One thing Liam learned right away was that Wim wasn’t doing any schoolwork when he was in the library.  They met there the Sunday night after their initial meeting on Saturday, met to do prep work for the next day’s classes.  Liam brought the textbooks and notebooks he’d need.  Wim came as he was, as he had been coming.  With empty hands.

They sat at one of the communal tables.  The library was mostly deserted.  Most boys studied in their rooms and only used the library when they had projects to do that required information not in their own books.  The table they chose was in the back, and no other boys were around.

Liam set his bag on the table and began taking out books, notebooks and pencils.  Wim sat down and watched him.  When Liam was opening his first book, he glanced at Wim, then looked up in surprise.

“Where are your books?”

“I didn’t bring any.”

“But, how are you going to study?” 

“I don’t.”

“But, but—Wim, you have to study!  Unless you’re a genius or something and already know everything.  I overheard the other day boys talking about you being called out by Mr. Mellanby.  Is this why?  You don’t do any prep work, so you’re not ready to recite or answer when someone calls on you?”

Wim dropped his eyes.  Liam suddenly felt badly for him.  “Hey, I’m not slamming you.  But talk to me about this.  Why don’t you do any work?”

Wim sighed.  “I used to.  But lately, when I try to read, my mind just sort of drifts away from what I’m reading.  I can’t concentrate on it.  I’ll start reading the textbook and I wake up to find it’s a half hour later and I’m still on the first paragraph.  I’ve tried to force myself, but I can’t seem to help it.  I don’t know what’s wrong.  I hate being called on in class and then getting chewed out, I hate it, but trying to study just hasn’t been working.”

Liam frowned.  He didn’t understand this any more than Wim did.  The only thing he could think of was to watch Wim.

“Here, I want to see this.”  He handed Wim his English History book, the one they both had to read for Mr. Mellanby’s class tomorrow.  They were in separate sessions of his lessons, but had the same work assigned.

“What page are we supposed to read?”

“Don’t you even write it down?”

“Not any more.  I can’t read it.  Why write down the assignment?”

“Well, I guess that makes an odd sort of sense.  Anyway, we’re to begin on page 114.  Read the first paragraph and tell me what it says.”

Wim opened the book, looked plaintively at Liam for a moment, then lowered his eyes to the page.  Liam watched as he read, watched his eyes.  He was looking for them to stop moving across the page, back and forth, but he didn’t see that.  In a few minutes, Wim stopped and lowered the book.

“Well?” Liam asked.

“Uh, it was about William the Conqueror.  It says he defeated the army of King Harold II.  It was the first paragraph in a history of the battle between the two armies.  It said the Pope had blessed William’s army, which gave him confidence.”

Liam gave Wim a small smile.  “And when do we come to the part where you can’t read it?”  He was reaching for another book from the pile on the table beside him while asking this, and when he looked up he found that Wim was grinning at him, and his eyes were sparkling.  “I did read it, didn’t I?  I wasn’t lying, you know.  I wasn’t able to concentrate before.  Here, now, with you sitting there, I didn’t have a bit of trouble.  I wonder why not?”

“I don’t know, but let’s get on with it.  Here, you can stay with that book and I’ll do my maths.  Then we can swap.  Okay?”

“Yeah, great.  I hope I can keep going like this.  Actually, the part about deploying the armies and how the fighting went looks really interesting.”

The boys were both pleased with the time they spent in the library.  Wim had done his entire assigned reading for the first time in ages, and felt very, very proud of himself.  It was not a feeling he had any familiarity with.

The next day, at tea, Liam was there first and seated when Wim arrived.  Wim picked up his tray and carried it to Liam’s table.  No one else was sitting there.  There never was, at Liam’s table at teatime, unless all the other tables filled first.

 

Wim was grinning when he sat down.  Liam looked a question at him.

“Okay, okay, what’s the big grin for?  I’ve never seen you actually looking happy before, unless it was last night.  What is it?”

“Mr. Mellanby.  He called on me first thing.  And I had it all down.  He kept trying to ask something I couldn’t answer, and then at the end, he finally did.  And I answered him by saying, very politely too, ‘Mr. Mellanby, I’m sorry, but that wasn’t covered in the lesson.’   He scowled at me and turned red, but then just told me to sit down.  That was it.  But man, do I feel good!”

That made Liam feel good too, and the boys chatted, happy smiles on both their faces.

After lunch, the boys parted, and Wim headed for his French lesson.  He had a spring in his step that had been absent.  As he walked towards his classroom, he was stopped by three boys, one of whom spoke to him.

“Hey, Tanner, is it?  Tanner, you don’t want to be sitting with that homo at tea.  No one sits with him.  You’re not a homo, are you?”

Wim’s heart started racing.  He was not a brave boy, he was much smaller than any one of the three boys who stood in his way, and he hated confrontations of any sort.

“Uh, no, I’m not.”

“Then you’d best not be sitting with him in future.  Everyone will think you’re a homo too.  We don’t like homos here.  We don’t want them here.  So listen.  Don’t sit with him.  Got it?”

Wim didn’t know how to respond.  He was scared so badly he was shaking.  This was what Liam had warned him about.  It had been easy then to dismiss it.  It wasn’t so easy now.

His pause didn’t go unnoticed by the boy speaking to him.  “Hey, I asked you something, needle dick.  I said, ‘Got it?’  Now you say, ‘Oh, yes sir, thank you sir, I won’t sit with him again, sir,’ and then you go on your merry way.  Now, we’ll try again.  I always heard you were stupid.  Let’s see if you’re smart enough to get this right.  Don’t sit with Blake again.  Got it?”

“I understand you, sir.  Thank you.”  With that, Wim walked swiftly around the three, who turned to watch him walk away.  Wim continued to tremble.  But they were behind him now, and as usual, no one else paid a bit of attention to him.  He heard the three laugh, but that was easy to ignore.

7

It took great resolve on Wim’s part, but the next day, at tea, he again joined Liam.  They had studied again together the night before.  There was a growing closeness between them.  Wim was still not very forthcoming about himself but Liam had learned not to press him, and because of that their camaraderie grew.  Today, Liam noticed a nervousness in Wim that hadn’t been there before.  He asked about it.

“Oh, it’s really nothing, Liam.”

 Liam was disappointed in the answer.  His voice betrayed this emotion when he responded.  “Come on, Wim.  We’re friends now.  This is what friends do.  They talk about what’s bothering them, what makes them nervous.  Talk to me.  You’ll see, it’ll help.”

He looked at Wim with compassionate eyes, and Wim found himself unable to resist.  “Okay, but there’s nothing you can do.  Yesterday after tea three boys told me not to sit with you.”

Liam gulped.  He’d been sure this would happen.  He’d also been hoping it wouldn’t happen this quickly, before their friendship was firmly cemented in place.  While worrying that this might be the end of it, he also marveled that Wim was sitting with him today.  He hadn’t thought he’d have the courage, once challenged.

“Who was it.  Wait, I know.  It was Hogsford, wasn’t it, and probably those two apes that hang around with him?”

Wim nodded, looking worried for a second, then noticeably relaxing.  “Liam, I don’t think they’ll do anything to me.  I’m much littler than they are and they’d get in so much trouble.  They’re not that dumb, couldn’t be, really.  They might say things to me, but I don’t think they’ll go any further.  I guess, since you guessed who they were, you’ve had some trouble with them.  What have they done to you?”

“They’ve been the worst of anyone.  After Richardson told everyone what I said, everyone was ragging on me for a spell, but then it sort of died down.  All accept Hogsford.  He took every opportunity to call me names and make nasty comments, still does, really, and when other people started to seem to get used to the idea I was different but didn’t seem to pose a threat or anything, he saw some people starting to talk to me again and he started telling every one to stay away from me.  One boy told them to leave him alone and came and sat with me the next day, and he ended up with bruises.  Said he’d tripped and fallen down.  But he never came to sit with me again.  Maybe everyone knew what happened, because after that, everyone else just seemed to ignore me.  Either ignore me or make rude remarks.

“Hogsford has kept up the pressure, telling everyone how sick and disgusting I am, how I want to get in their pants, how I want to see them naked in the showers and changing room, and I think everyone’s just found it easier to leave me alone, even if some of them would otherwise be friendly.  I see looks sometimes.  Some boys look a bit ashamed, but then turn and walk away.  I think when he gets to you, you will too.  You can’t fight all three of them.  You couldn’t even fight one of them.“

Liam’s mood had changed, as the reality of it all had sunk in.  By the end of this speech, he was looking down at the table and his voice was cracking.  Now he looked up at Wim with moist eyes and said, “You know, it would be best for you to get up and leave.  I understand.  And thanks for saving me, and trying to be my friend.  That’ll always mean everything to me.”

Liam had no more appetite.  He stopped eating and just sat with his head down, looking at his tray.  He knew he had to compose himself.  It would not do at all for all the other boys to see him crying.

When he finally had control, he glanced up, and was surprised to find himself looking right into Wim’s eyes.

“I thought you were leaving.”

“You were wrong.  I decided before tea I was going to sit here today.  Telling me I could get hurt is something I already figured out.  It doesn’t change anything, you telling me what I already know.  I like sitting here with you and I’m going to keep doing it.  I know you’re trying to make it easier for me to leave, but I don’t want to leave.  Let Hogsford do what he wants to.  If he beats me up, I’ll tell, and it’ll get him expelled.  Then he won’t bother you any longer.  It might be for the best.”

Liam could hardly believe it.  Little Wim, who had told him he wasn’t at all brave, was standing by him.  Thinking about that, what it meant, he suddenly felt in fear of crying again.

Wim saw his emotions and briefly lifted a hand to Liam’s shoulder and gently hit it.  Then he quietly turned to his sandwich and ate.