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The Outcasts
By Cole Parker
Hammil Academy Berkshire, England 1970
Part 3
14
Wim was very nervous going to see the headmaster. Liam had been vague about why the man wanted to meet with him. Thinking about his nervousness, Wim found it strange that the last time he’d gone to see him, facing possible expulsion for fighting in the dining room, he hadn’t felt nearly this nervous. The fact his whole attention at that time had been focused on protecting Liam never occurred to him.
After he was seated in the headmaster’s study and they had chatted over tea, something the scholar hoped would soften the fears of the boy sitting in his presence, the headmaster began speaking to him in a kindly fashion, a fashion long practiced to bring a boy enough comfort so he could speak freely. The headmaster found Wim pleasant enough, and after speaking with him awhile felt he’d loosen up a bit, but there was obviously a reticence in the boy.
So he spoke, they chatted, and he found all his attempts to get Wim to open up to him were failing.
The headmaster knew when he was not going to make much headway with a boy. He had reached that point now with Wim. Rather than throw up his hands in defeat, however, he simply kept trying new tacts. He eventually decided open honesty and a more personal approach might be the best method with this boy.
“Tanner, would you allow me the license to address you as Wim? Liam was here to see me today. He used that name for you. It was apparent how he feels about you. I would like the two of us to be closer, and I think if you’d allow me to use that name, it might help. Is it all right if I call you Wim?”
Wim was surprised, yet touched. He looked up at the headmaster and didn’t see the ogre of the reputation. He saw a kindly man, one with compassionate eyes. Shyly, Wim told him he’d be happy to be called by his Christian name.
“Wim, Blake—oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound—Liam is very concerned about you. After talking to you now, I can see why. I’ve known a lot of boys in my time here. I’ve learned to read them when they talk to me. I read their words, their body language, their eyes, their nervousness. What I read from you is, here’s a friendly, polite, very nice boy who doesn’t want to talk to me. But I don’t get the impression you’re afraid of me. So I don’t think it’s just me you won’t talk to. You won’t talk to anyone, will you?”
“No, sir, and I’m sorry if I’m being rude.”
“Oh, no, Wim, you’re not being rude. What I’d say you’re being is cautious. Or perhaps, to venture a guess, self-protective. And you’re a very different boy from the one who was here almost a month ago. That boy wasn’t a bit private. That boy stood up for his friend. He did his utmost to see no harm would come to him. You were free and committed toward that end. You’re not nearly that free with what you say now.
“I also heard all about what occurred with you and Liam when the two of us spoke. It sounded to me like you were totally engaged with saving him, too, and then in saving him in the dining room as well. Do you know what I’m feeling from this, Wim?”
“No sir.”
“Well, what I’m feeling is that when we’re talking about Wim Tanner, you close down. Your pull down the blinds, fasten up the shutters, lock the doors and don’t let anyone in. But, when it comes to Liam, you forget about yourself and concentrate on him. And when that happens, you come alive. No more hiding, no more holding back. Your whole personality changes. Think about that for a moment. Do you agree with that, or am I wrong?”
Wim was suddenly feeling nervous. Not with the headmaster himself, but with where the conversation seemed to be headed. But he had to answer the question. As as he started to do so, he realized, with surprise, he didn’t feel awkward with what he was about to say. The headmaster had found a way of smoothing the path in front of him.
“I agree, sir. In fact, I hadn’t thought of it that way, but as I do now, it explains something to me. Something I’ve wondered about. You see, before I met Liam, I was always sort of thinking about many things all at once, if I thought about anything, but never about myself, certainly not at all deeply. I rather didn’t let myself think about personal things too much. Never about other boys, either. But, for some reason, I wanted to know more about Liam, which seemed very weird to me, but I sort of couldn’t help myself, with him. I followed him, and when I saw what he was about to do at the bridge, suddenly for the first time in a very long time I was completely focusing on him. Only him. And I think, now that you’ve said what you have, that that’s why I suddenly felt so free. When I was helping him, saving him, I was outside myself, and it felt so good. I could focus all of myself on someone else, on something else that was important, and I could completely forget about myself. I couldn’t think why I felt so free then, but now I think I understand.”
“That’s what I was thinking too, Wim. And as far as I can tell, when you’re with Liam, you are thinking of him, you are watching him, and you have little self-awareness. Especially if you’re helping him. But Wim, what we need to do, what you need to do, is allow yourself to figure out why, when you’re thinking about yourself, you stop yourself from doing that in any meaningful way. Why do you hide from yourself? Can we talk about that? I said a moment ago you were being self-protective. That’s exactly what’s happening and to get to the bottom of it, you have to talk to me. About yourself.”
“I don’t like to do that, sir. I never even think about myself if I can help it. There’s nothing much to talk about anyway.”
“Tell me, Wim, what do you think of yourself? Are you proud of yourself, of who you are?”
“Oh, no sir. I’m really nothing. I don’t know why Liam wants to be my friend, unless he’s just feeling sorry for me and because I saved him. He’s got lots of friends now, and I was thinking of telling him he should choose another roommate for next term. He shouldn’t be stuck with me.”
“Wim, can you tell me about home?” He asked the question softy, and tried to put as much empathy into the question as possible.
Wim visably stiffened. He was silent, but as it became apparent the headmaster was waiting for him to talk and wasn’t going to relieve the tension himself, Wim finally said, “I don’t like to do that, sir.”
“I understand that, Wim. But I think you need to. I now know why Liam came to see me. He’s hurting for you, Wim. He wants to see you happy, and he knows you well enough to see that there is pain inside you. Now that we’ve spent some time together, I see it too, and unlike Liam, who has no experience with these things, I believe I know where the pain comes from. I also know it’ll help you a lot more if you tell me than if I guess. You need to do this, whether you want to or not. You showed a great deal of courage when you were in the dining room, fighting for your friend. You showed it again in this room before, again trying to save him. Will you show me the same courage now, fighting for yourself? It’ll take more courage than any you’ve showed me before, but I think you can do it. Please, Wim?”
Wim was silent, and then, after a moment tears began spilling from his eyes. He lowered his head and was the very picture of misery. The headmaster came to him, crouched by him and pulled Wim’s head to his chest. He put his arms around him and held him as he wept.
It took quite some time, but finally, when he could speak again, Wim lifted his head and asked in a shaky voice, “You know, sir?”
“Not really. I can make a pretty good guess about what feelings you may have, but no, I don’t really know any particulars. But I want you to tell me. Catharsis comes from you speaking, not from me guessing.”
“What does, sir?”
The headmaster chuckled, though the sound was sad. “Catharsis. The relieving of all the pressure and guilt and blame and suffering you’ve been living with. Telling me about it will make you feel better. If nothing else, just talking to me about something you don’t want to talk about will make you realize how strong you are, that you can do this, and you need to prove to yourself you are that strong. Believe me, Wim, you can’t say anything I haven’t heard before, from one boy or another, over the years. I need to hear it from you. But more to the point, you need to say it. Then we’ll talk about it. And when you leave here today, you’ll feel better.”
“But sir, some of this is, well, hard to speak to an adult about. It’s personal, and it’s about sex.”
“Yes, I assumed that. But Wim, you need to talk about it, in as much detail as you can, because it’s the holding it in that is hurting you so much. That, and how you feel about it. I know it is embarrassing. Getting over the embarrassment, that’s part of this. It’s realizing you’re human, other people have been where you’ve been, and what you have to say isn’t going to kill you. Wim, I’ve had this conversation, or ones like it, with other boys. They’ve told me things they never thought they could say to anyone. And when they were done, they felt better. They continued to go to school here, they got over whatever was troubling them, they got on with their lives.
“Furthermore, I was a boy once myself. And I had a son. I know the things boys do. Very rarely are they horrible. They’re boy things. I did them too. Maybe not all the things you’ve been through, but things like them, probably. It’s part of growing up. So I’m not going to be shocked. And you’re going to feel better. But it does take courage. How much do you have of that, Wim?”
15
It took some time, but eventually, as the sun was lowering and the headmaster’s wife had unobtrusively and efficiently come in, turned on the lamps and then left, the headmaster had kept up his empathetic persuasion and Wim’s resistance had been broken. Wim was now sitting on one of the couches that was facing the fireplace. The headmaster was in a chair at right angles to him and close enough that his presence could give the boy some support.
“My father left my mum and I when I was seven,” Wim began. “I loved him, and he loved me, and I didn’t really know why he left, my mum wouldn’t talk to me about him at all, but in my mind at least, he got tired of the fighting. She was always after him for something, one thing or another, just constantly, and I think he simply got tired of it. She has never been a happy person, not ever, there was no pleasing her, and she made people around her unhappy, too. So he left. I didn’t know he was going to go, but one morning, he wasn’t there any longer, and I never saw him again. The night before, he came into my room just when I was falling asleep. He sat on the bed, just looking at me. When I sort of woke up a little, he ruffled my hair the way he liked to do, and told me that he loved me more than anything else in the whole world, and that I should never forget that. No matter what anyone said, no matter what I heard, remember, I’d heard from his own lips, he loved me most, in the whole world.
“It didn’t mean anything to me. I thought he was just being sentimental, and I was mostly asleep anyway. I never saw him after that, but I remembered what he said. I always remembered it, when I thought of him.
“I lived with my mum after that, just the two of us. Occasionally Dad’s brother would show up, my Uncle Patrick. He and I always got along really well. I loved Uncle Pat. He was a few years younger than my dad, even a year or so younger than Mum. Every few months he’d come by to see how we were. After about a year, when I was almost 9, when he’d come, he’d stay for a week, and then it started to be maybe two weeks, after a time. I was happy when he was there. I loved him. I could never tell why, but my mum didn’t seem to fight with him like she did with my dad. She even acted flirty some times, which embarrassed me to pieces.
“Things stayed like this, and he was there more and more. By the time I was 11, he was staying with us more than he wasn’t. He had the guest room, Mum had her room which used to be her and Dad’s room, and I had mine.
“It was then, when I was 11, that I remember I had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night one night. The fish we’d had for dinner had tasted a bit off, and about two in the morning, I had cramps and had to run to the toilet. When I was done, I came out, and was surprised to see Uncle Pat walking towards his bedroom. He was naked, which wasn’t a surprise. I knew he slept that way. When I was younger, after my dad had left, I used to creep into his bed at night sometimes and that was the way he always was. I’d go to him when I was scared or upset and he’d hold me and I’d fall asleep. I couldn’t go to Mum’s room. Mum didn’t want me there. So I had gone to Uncle Pat’s bed, when he was there.
“Anyway, that night, seeing him walking to his bedroom, it was strange, because where he was coming from, there was only my Mum’s bedroom there. And it made no sense to me why he’d be coming from there, naked.
“I was half-asleep and my stomach still bothered me a little, so I didn’t dwell on it. But seeing him did give me an idea. When he walked into his room, I followed him and climbed into bed with him.
“ ‘Wim,’ I remember him saying, ‘you’re a little old for this now, aren’t you?’ I told him my stomach was upset and I just wanted to be held as he used to do. I rolled onto my side and he spooned me from the back. He rubbed his hand over my stomach lightly and asked if that felt good, and I said it did. He kept doing that, and for some reason I didn’t understand. . . .”
Wim stopped at that point, and looked down, unable to meet the headmaster’s eyes. The headmaster moved over at sat beside the boy on the couch. “Wim, just say what you’re going to say. Talking about this sort of thing is not going to upset me, and you don’t need to be embarrassed, even though I know you will be. Talking through the embarrassment will help you, and you won’t say anything I haven’t heard, and I won’t think less of you. In fact, I’ll admire you even more for being able to say it. Now look at me.”
Wim didn’t want to, but slowly raised his eyes till he was looking in the headmaster’s.
“Can you do it, Wim? Are you strong enough? Can you?”
Wim wanted to drop his eyes, but then didn’t. He held the headmaster’s gaze for several moments, then said, “All right. I feel really strange, saying this to you, but I’ll do it.”
The headmaster smiled, a very warm and encouraging smile. Then he squeezed Wim’s shoulder, got up and moved back to his chair.
Wim gathered his resolve and, feeling very shaky indeed, continued.
“He was rubbing my stomach, and, well, my penis got hard.”
Wim stopped, and there was silence. The headmaster wasn’t frowning at him, he saw when he had the courage to look at him, but was in fact smiling at him. Wim braced himself and continued.
“I had begun getting hard at odd times recently, and it embarrassed me, but it surprised me it should happen now, and I was very scared he would feel it.
“He rubbed my stomach for a while longer, then said I should go to sleep and stopped moving his hand, just left it there on my stomach. I stopped worrying then, and fell asleep pretty quickly.
“In the morning, when I woke up, he wasn’t in the bed. I met him in the kitchen when I was dressed, and he told me we needed to talk after breakfast. When I was finished, he told me we should go for a walk. We walked to a park that was close by the flat we lived in and sat on a bench. He told me I was probably getting too old to be spending the night in his bed. I asked him why, and he said when boys got to be about my age, their bodies began changing, they started to get interested in sex, and it wasn’t appropriate for them to be sleeping with men. I didn’t know very much about anything, I guess. Kids at my school didn’t talk about sex, my mum sure didn’t, and I didn’t know anything at all. So, I asked him why men shouldn’t sleep with boys, and Uncle Pat told me about sex. He told me about making babies, he told me how some men like other men instead of women, he told me how boys sometimes played around with each other, he told me how some men were interested in boys that way.
“I heard lots of stuff I didn’t know anything about. Some of it was exciting, some of it was confusing, but I found myself getting hard when he started. When he finished, I was still hard. So, I asked him about that, and told him I’d gotten hard last night in bed with him, too.
“He was quiet for a while then, just looking out over the park. When he did turn to speak to me, his voice was a little different. A little huskier. He told me that he was one of the men that liked other men. He said he was different in that he liked women too. He said some people are much more interested in, have a much greater appetite for, sex than others, and that he fit in that category, too. He told me now that I was older and having erections, he found me attractive, but we shouldn’t do anything together, and I shouldn’t come into his bed because he didn’t know if he could avoid the temptation next time.
“I don’t know exactly how I knew, but after having listened to him, I suddenly put it together. I asked him then if when I saw him last night, he was coming from my mum’s room, and was he having sex with her? He told me it was very much a secret, and I must never tell anyone, not even mum, but what I guessed was right, that they’d been having sex almost ever since my dad had left.
“I had to think about that. I wasn’t sure how I felt. This was all new to me. I wasn’t sure what I felt about any of it. But he was telling me things, sitting with his arm around me, and I loved him, I loved the attention, and if he was having sex with my mum, that was probably what adults did. I decided it didn’t bother me.
“He also talked to me about what my body was doing, what I was experiencing, what I should expect in the next few years. Finally I had some answers to questions I didn’t know how to ask. When we were done, I felt closer to Uncle Pat than I ever had.
“My mum and I weren’t close. I was much happier when Uncle Pat was with us than when Mum and I were by ourselves. She acted as though I were a burden on her and was constantly grousing about something. Nothing I did was right. I learned how to stay out of her way. I learned how to be self-sufficient. When Uncle Pat was there, at least someone was around to notice me and pay attention. I felt almost human then.
“When I was 12, what Uncle Pat had spoken to me about was happening. My body was changing. And I was starting to get feelings I’d never had before. I was getting hard more often, and learned if felt good to touch it. I didn’t know about wanking, other than what Uncle Pat had said when he mentioned boys doing things with each other. I never did touch myself long enough to have an orgasm, but I did like to touch it.
“Also, at night, I’d think a lot. My new feelings, and the feelings I got when I’d rub myself, made me think a lot about sex. And the thought that kept coming back was, Uncle Pat had told me men and boys sometimes did things together, that he found me attractive, and if I ever came into his bed again, he didn’t know if he could stop himself. The more I thought about it, night after night, lying there, touching myself, the more I thought what it might be like if he didn’t stop himself. And my curiosity grew and grew.
“Then, one day that wasn’t any different from any other, as far as I could see, my mum was in a nastier mood than usual, and for some reason I didn’t do my usual good job of avoiding her. Maybe it was because I was 12 and starting to feel a little full of myself, or maybe it didn’t have anything to do with me, but she was grousing, I said something back, and suddenly we were in a full-fledged row. And it wasn’t just shouting. We started that way, but then she grabbed me, and before I knew it, she was hitting me, slapping me across the face with both hands, even pulling my hair. I think she went a little bonkers, because if Uncle Pat hadn’t come in just then, she would have done me some damage. She was completely out of control, and enough bigger than I was that I couldn’t protect myself from her. Uncle Pat came in, took one look and grabbed her. She struggled, but he was much stronger and pinned her arms. She was screaming, struggling, and then simply collapsed. I didn’t wait to see what happened next. I took off. I was crying, my face was bright red, I was almost hysterical with emotions, but I fled. I ran out of the flat and just ran. Finally, I got tired, my emotions caught up with me, and I looked around, not even sure where I had run to. I soon figured it out. I was miles from home. There was nothing for it. I turned around and started walking back. My mind was numb, but somewhere in it was the thought that as long as Uncle Pat was there, I’d be all right.
“I was 12. I didn’t know what else to do but go home.
“When I arrived, the house was quiet. I peeked in the front door and saw Uncle Pat sitting in the living room, just sitting. When he heard the door he looked up, then jumped up when he saw me and ran to me, scooped me up in his arms and hugged me. I broke down crying. He carried me to the couch and held me while I sobbed.
“You always stop crying, eventually, and so did I. You run out of tears, or maybe you get tired of feeling sorry for yourself. Anyway, I stopped. Uncle Pat let go of me. I looked at him and asked, “Why? Why did she do that?”
“ ‘I don’t know, Wim,’ he said. ‘She’s not a happy person, and she tends to blame all her problems on everyone around her. When you ran out, she started yelling at me how awful you are. She didn’t even realize what she’d done. She could be locked up for that. It’s a criminal offense, beating your children, but she didn’t even think of that. It was all about how hard she has everything and how no one seems to care. Finally, when I kept telling her that you were the one I felt sorry for, not her, she told me to get out then, she didn’t need me around any longer. I told her I was going to stay to make sure you were all right, and she just walked into her bedroom and slammed the door. She hasn’t come out since.’
“After that, we went into the kitchen and he made us some soup for dinner. We watched TV till it was time for bed. I asked him if he were going to stay, and he said he was till he was certain I was safe there. So we went to our rooms. I felt terrible. My life felt like it was turned upside down. After only a few minutes, I got up and went into his room.
“He was reading a book, lying in bed with his bedside lamp on. When he saw me, he lifted the cover, and I crawled in next to him. He set his book down, turned off the light, then rolled over to hold me. I shuddered when he put his arms around me. For the first time since my row, I felt safe.
“We lay like that for a few minutes. I could feel his body up against mine, and thinking about that, I began to get hard. I don’t know whether it was all the emotions I’d run through that day or not, but suddenly, I was hornier than I’d ever been. I was harder than I’d ever been before, too. I started wiggling my butt back against his lap, and almost immediately I felt him start to grow, too.
“ ‘Wim, do you know what you’re doing?’ he asked softly. I didn’t even bother to answer, just rubbed against him harder. He clamped his arms tighter around me to slow me down, then reached down with his hand and felt me. It felt so good I thought I could see stars. It didn’t feel anything like it did when I touched myself. I had my pyjama bottoms on, and he reached inside to touch me, then told me to lift my bottom, and he slid the bottoms right off. Then, as I settled back onto the bed again, he lightly took me in his hand and started stroking me.
“I only lasted a minute or two. I’d never had an orgasm before and it just overwhelmed me. I thought I was going to explode, the pressure got so intense, and then when I came, I made a mess all over him, me and the bed. I might have passed out briefly afterwards, because when I could see again, he was wiping me down with a warm wet towel, and he sure hadn’t had that when I got in his bed.
“ ‘Did you ever do that before?’ he asked curiously. I told him I hadn’t, and he smiled at me affectionately, then told me we should go to sleep now, it had been a long day. I didn’t need any encouragement. He lay on his back, I sort of half rolled on top of him, put one leg across his, and was out like a light.
“That was the first of many times I slept with him. He stayed. My mum wanted him gone, but he just told her he didn’t trust her around me and was staying to protect me, and if she didn’t like it, he’d call the child services people and get everything straightened out, and if she went to jail, maybe that’s where she belonged. We had three people living in that flat, but from that point on she never spoke to either of us, or lifted a finger to help us, either. I started making sure I was only in the flat when Uncle Pat was. I’d stay away in the afternoon till it was time for him to be home from work, and I’d leave in the morning when he left. It meant I got to school much earlier than anyone else, but it was safe.
“I found out at that time that my dad had been sending her child support money all along. I learned about that when Uncle Pat told her I needed some new clothes. Mine were becoming too small for me, and some were beginning to look ratty. That started a row, she said she wasn’t giving him any money for me, but he very purposefully walked to the phone, called directory assistance and asked for the number of child services, and she gave him the money.
“It was a while after that when it all blew up. It was summer then and I had turned 13 about a month earlier. I felt sexier than ever, my body continued to mature, and I was visiting Uncle Pat’s bedroom on a more regular basis. He told me we had to be careful, but he liked what we were doing as much as I did, and didn’t want to tell me to stop. We were doing more things now, too, and it was wonderful.
“That night, a warm night, we were lying naked on his bed and I had my head in his lap, doing what he really liked me to do, when my mum suddenly walked into the room. She took one look and blew sky high. She began yelling at both of us, screaming in fact, then began looking for things to throw at us. I jumped down beside the bed so it would protect me somewhat. Uncle Pat stood up and grabbed her. She fought like a tigress, and managed to scratch him rather deeply across one cheek. He finally locked her arms to her side, carried her to her bedroom, threw her inside and slammed the door. He held it shut when she tried to open it again. He had to wait till she’d worn herself out yelling, then told her they needed to talk, and if she could do so calmly, they could go to the kitchen, sit down and have it out.
“Eventually, she was rational enough to realize that was what she needed to do, and she agreed. They walked to the kitchen, and Uncle Pat asked me to make tea. They sat at the table. While I was working, Mum started saying how disgusting he was, how disgusting I was, and that as soon as she could, she was going to call the police and have him arrested, and he could rot in jail for years and years for what he’d done to me.
“He told her that it was only her word against ours, and we’d both swear to the beating she’d given me, and that her accusations were just retaliation for what we were saying, that there was no truth in them at all.”
“She smiled then, and it was a nasty looking smile. She told him that he wasn’t going to get away that easily, because she would have me to the doctors and they’d be able to tell he’d been buggering me by inspecting my backside.
“I think that was what saved us. He’d never done that. I’d told him on a few occasions he could, even that I wanted him to, but he never had. I felt awfully good now that he hadn’t.
“Anyway, he told her that she could do that if she wanted, but it would simply show nothing of that sort had occurred, and it would make her look foolish and vindictive. They argued and rowed, and eventually it came down to the fact she thought we were both disgusting perverts and she couldn’t stand to live with us, it was her flat and she wanted us both out, immediately and permanently. She said we deserved each other, and we could live together, but she wasn’t having anything to do with either of us again.
“I was listening to all this, and it was truly awful. Every other word from her was about how sinful and horrid I was. My only support was Uncle Pat, and then that disappeared too. After she told him he could have me, he told her that wouldn’t work. His job was soon going to be requiring him to travel, and he wouldn’t be there to look after me. She said that was his problem and she wanted to be shut of both of us.
“They kept at it, and finally, about the time the sun was rising, they’d reached an unhappy compromise. I was to be sent to a public school and they would both pay half the expenses. Mum’s money would come from Dad’s child support, and Uncle Pat’s from his salary. Neither bothered to ask me what I wanted. But I couldn’t have said anything anyway. I was trying to cope with knowing my mum didn’t want to see me again. Things had been bad lately, ever since the time she’d beaten me, and even before that, too, but at least we were still together, and if we weren’t speaking, I could still pretend things were not that bad. Now, she was protesting loud and clear how terrible I was, how she wished she’d never had me, how corrupt and evil I was, how I was the reason Dad had left, how Uncle Pat had ruined me, how I now would only want sex from men and how evil that was, how I was going to be a pervert all my life, how he’d turned me queer, and she went on and on. I was hearing that, and I was learning that I no longer had a home. I was to be sent to boarding school, but what about the time I wasn’t there? Nothing was said about that, but I no longer had a home.
I don’t think Uncle Pat was paying any attention to me or how this was affecting me till he finally looked over at me. I was lying on the floor in one corner of the kitchen, hugging myself in a fetal position, and silently weeping. How can your parent feel that way about you? How can you be so awful a person that she feels no love at all for you, only contempt and hatred?
“Uncle Pat came to me and tried to console me, but I’d been listening to her rant about me for an hour, and the words had been like whips hitting me. First my dad had left, now my mum hated me and I could see Uncle Pat didn’t want me either. At least that’s the way it seemed to me in my state. Uncle Pat carried me into my bedroom and put me in bed. He kissed my forehead and told me to sleep, he’d be there for me when I awoke.”
16
Wim was affected, remembering the emotions he’d felt at that time. He stopped talking and the headmaster did say anything, letting him work through his feelings.
Eventually, Wim began speaking again.
“He was there when I woke up. It was late afternoon. I found I had no energy to get up. I was awake, but all the words from last night just kept ringing in my head. Uncle Pat was checking on me, I guessed, because not long after I’d woken up he stuck his head in the room, saw my eyes were open, and came to sit on the bed.
“He asked me how I was feeling and I told him not so good. He said he was really sorry things were so hard for me, but I’d have a new life at boarding school, and maybe it was best this way, that I needed to find my own friends and get on with my life. He said he’s spent the morning doing some research on schools and had found one in Berkshire that looked very good. He said he’d called them and they had room for me, and that I could begin the new term with them. It would be only two weeks till the term started, and I could live with him till then.
“That’s what we did. We packed up all my things and moved it to his flat. I didn’t even unpack most of it, just left it in the trunks and had them sent on here. Those two weeks with Uncle Pat, we didn’t do anything else in bed. I slept in the guest room. I didn’t seem to have any interest at all in sex any longer. I think the words I heard from my mum, about how bad I was, about how Uncle Pat had ruined me for sex for the rest of my life, how I was now queer, I think it was all stuck in my mind with everything else she said.
“I decided she was right about most of it. I wasn’t worth much. I’d not been worth enough to keep my dad with me, I’d alienated my mum, and even though Uncle Pat kept saying nice things to me, he had wanted me shipped off to boarding school as soon as he’d been told he could take me. That made me realize I wasn’t even tempting enough as a sex partner to interest him.
“I was in a funk, and didn’t have much use for myself. When I got here the boys were all friendly and eager to get to know me, but I was in no state to respond to them. I made a little effort, at first, but as time went on, it was easier just to shut myself away. And I did that, until I saw Liam. I still have no idea why seeing him affected me. But it did, and you know the rest.”
It was late by now. The headmaster had had his wife prepare a simple meal of soup and toast. She’d brought it in while Wim was talking, but he hadn’t been interested. Now that he was done, he could feel some hunger and picked up his spoon. The headmaster told him he’d have the soup warmed up, and called his wife.
When the soup was brought back, and Wim was eating it, the headmaster spoke softly to him. “Wim, you’ve told me everything. I’m not shocked. I’ve heard much worse. But we need to clear some things up. Most boys, when they’ve been through the sort of things you have, feel all the bad things that have happened, even the ones they’ve survived, were their own fault. You feel the same thing. I can tell you you weren’t to blame, but me saying that won’t help you much. What will help will be when you start believing it. You can help with that if you tell yourself, whenever you can think to do so, that it wasn’t your fault. That you’re just a kid, a young boy, and what occurred was completely out of your control. You were feeling the need of adult comfort when you went to your uncle’s bed. When you seduced him, if you could call it that, you had just had your emotions played with fiercely, and you were not yourself. But whether that was true or not, he should not have done what he did. Even if you encouraged him, even if you wanted him to do it, he shouldn’t have. The way you feel now, that you’re to blame for everything, is much to do with him giving in to his urges. He was the adult, it was his responsibility to say no to you. You feel blame because you encouraged what happened, but the blame is not yours. It is entirely his. He was the responsible one of the two of you.
“Another thing that boys feel is that because they enjoyed what happened, they’re bad. Again, that isn’t so. Sex feels good. You shouldn’t feel guilt because you enjoyed it. You need to learn when and with whom it is appropriate to have sex, you have to learn what is love and what is lust, but Wim, you’re 14! You’re not supposed to understand those things yet!
“Love is complicated, Wim. Sex is complicated. It’s most appropriate you learn about it with people your own age, with your own level of experience. The problem comes when adults get involved with children. It throws everything out of proportion.
“You did nothing wrong, Wim. Some of your judgments might have not been the best, but you’ve been beating yourself up over this ever since it happened. You’ve been beating yourself up that you’re not lovable because of your parents’ actions. You’ve been beating yourself up over what your mother said to you. And none of it is due to you or true about you.
“You won’t believe this just because I’m telling you. You have to learn it for yourself. You have to learn that you’re lovable. That you’re a good and kind and wonderful boy. A courageous boy who gives of himself to protect his friends. You don’t believe any of this. You’ve been telling yourself you’re worthless, and you’ve come to believe that. One reason you’ve been pushing other boys away is because you’re sure, when they learn who you really are, they’ll see what a terrible person you are and will then turn away from you. To forestall that day, you don’t let them get close.
“But Wim, I know there’s one boy here who loves you. You know it, too. I don’t know whether it’s sexual love or friendship love, but either way, he loves you and cares about you and is hurting because you’re hurting. You’ve let him get close to you, not all the way inside, where you think all the bad things are, where all your hurt is, but you’ve cracked open the door for him. He hasn’t turned away from you. He wants to get inside. He wants to help you get rid of the pain.
“You opened the door all the way for me to see in, Wim, and I’m not disgusted. I see that you’re not the monster you think you are, you’re not evil, but are in fact only a sad boy trying to do the best he can, fighting his own impressions of himself. One of the things boys who’ve been through what you’ve been through do is lose all sense of self-esteem. You’ve done that. You told me you don’t like yourself much, that you’re worthless. That’s what happens. And it cripples you. You have to accept the fact that you’re a good, worthwhile person. That is going to take some time, but if you take little steps, every day, if you keep telling yourself you’re a good kid, if you keep letting other boys get to know you and watch how they act around you, you’ll see they value you too. Give them a chance, Wim. And most of all, give yourself a chance.
“Here’s what we’re going to do, you and I. We’re going to have tea together three times a week. At first, it’ll just be you and me. Eventually, if you want to, you can invite Liam to join us. I like Liam. He’s good for you, just as you’re good for him. But before that, just you and I are going to have tea, and we’re going to talk. Because I’m a teacher, and you’re a boy, I’m going to give you an assignment, an assignment for each meeting. It will be to tell me something good you’ve done since the last time we met. It can be something big, or little, or lots of things, but you’re to remember at least one good thing you’ve done. You’re going to tell me about it, each time we meet. And maybe, just maybe, after you start to realize how many good things you’ve done, how many people you make happy or how many scraps of trash you’ve picked up or how you helped another boy when he needed a hand, or whatever else you’ve done, it’ll occur to you that perhaps you’re not this worthless kid, that in fact you’re helping make life better all around you, and you couldn’t be doing that if you were worthless. And when you start thinking that way, you’re going to be starting to heal.
”Believe me when I say this, Wim. One of the best ways to feel good about yourself is to help someone else. Someone who needs help. You already felt that when you helped Liam, at the bridge. You said it was a powerful feeling. Help others, too, Wim, and I think your feeling of worthlessness will soon be on the wane.”
The headmaster spoke for some time more, and Wim listened, and when he left, he realized what the headmaster had said was true. He did feel better about himself.
17
When Wim left the headmaster’s house that night and began the short trek back to his house, he realized with a start that his thoughts weren’t the jumble they usually were. He had started letting his thoughts flit around when he found himself constantly going over and over in his head his mum’s scornful, belittling words. After a while, to prevent the pain these thoughts caused, he had taught himself to immediately start thinking of something, anything, else. He’d become so adept at this that it had become a habit with him, and he did it all the time. Now, walking through the warm evening, seeing other boys in the distance walking in pairs or groups to their houses, he was startled to realize his mind wasn’t wandering at all, but staying focused on what he was intending to think about.
He also noticed that some of the residual pain he always carried with him was no longer so sharp. It was still there, he could detect it, but it didn’t seem so frightening, so unmanageable. It didn’t seem to be lying in wait for an unguarded moment in which to rear up and bite him.
The headmaster had told him he’d feel better when he left his house. He thought about that, and knew it was true. There was a lightness in his soul that hadn’t been there previously. He didn’t feel like the world would collapse in on him as he’d been feeling for so long.
He allowed his thoughts to do what he had previously avoided with all his strength. He allowed them to touch on his mother. He could easily picture her sitting at the kitchen table, her face red, her eyes and mouth both filled with hatred. This thought had always brought him to his knees, figuratively. Now, it hurt, but he found he could look at it, even analyze it. He instinctively knew, without knowing how, that if he continued to allow his mind to go there, the more often it happened, the less raw the moment would feel. And that in itself was a healing feeling.
He then thought about Liam. Lately, he’d spent a lot of time thinking about Liam. He thought about what the headmaster had said, that Liam cared deeply about him. Then he thought about what he knew about Liam, how decent and honest and caring and sensitive he was, and realized what a good person he was. And the question crept into his head that if such a boy could care so much about him, could he really be as worthless as he had felt he was?
He walked on, approaching his house. He passed a younger boy, one who he knew was in his house but in the form below his. He couldn’t remember the boy’s name. Wim hadn’t in the past taken much trouble to learn who the other boys were. But he recognized him as someone he possibly should know.
The boy was sitting on a bench along the path. This was odd. It was almost time for evening prayers. A young boy shouldn’t be out here alone. Formerly, it is possible Wim would not have noticed him. Now, he did, and stopped, then walked back and stood a few paces away. The boy looked up, and then down again on seeing Wim watching him. Wim caught a brief look of tears in his eyes.
Wim walked to the bench and sat down. The boy looked up at him again, and this time Wim smiled at him and told him hello and that he looked like he needed someone to talk to.
“It’s all right. I’ll manage.” The boy was obviously embarrassed, having been caught crying by an older boy.
“I always thought that, too. But it helps if you have someone to listen. What’s the matter?”
The boy looked confused for a moment, and said, “I don’t even know you!”
“I’m Wim. We’re in the same house. I’d like to help if you’d let me. Someone just helped me. I’d like to help you. But you have to let me. Will you?”
The boy sighed. “I don’t think you can. I just got a letter from Mum. She and Dad are talking about a divorce. And I’m all the way out here.”
Wim moved to put his arm around the younger boy, who shrugged it off. Wim wasn’t deterred. “My parents aren’t together either. I know how hard that is. Look, let’s get back to the house. You’ll be counted as missing any moment now, and that’s demerits. Let’s go back, and then, tomorrow directly after tea, let’s meet at the library. I’ll talk to you then. You can tell me what you’re feeling, and maybe talking will make you feel better. It helps to have someone to talk to.”
Just then a bell could be heard in the distance. “Look,” Wim said, pulling the boy up and starting to move toward the house while still speaking, “we’re both going to be late. Let me run interference with Mr. Fitzsimmons for you. I think I can clear you. I’ll tell him we were talking about a personal matter that was weighing on you, that you needed some space from the other boys. He’ll understand. Come on though. It’ll help if we’re only a few minutes late.”
The boy got up and they jogged back to the house. They made it in only a minute, and in fact prayers were a few minutes late that evening and they weren’t even missed. Wim smiled over at the boy when the roll was called, and was rewarded with a thankful smile back.
Wim grinned to himself. He was already one up for his tea meeting with the headmaster, and he already was starting to feel better about himself.
18
Liam noticed a difference in Wim that night after Wim’s meeting with the headmaster when they were finally alone in their room together. It wouldn’t have been apparent to anyone else, but Liam spent a great deal of time looking at Wim and knew him head to toe. Yes, there was something different.
“How was your meeting, then?” he asked him.
Wim lay back on his bed after propping his pillow against the headboard as support to sprawl against. “It was, well, not what I was expecting. It was hard, but I’m awfully glad I went. Thank you for that. In fact, thank you for everything.”
Liam was taken back by the depth of sincerely in Wim’s voice. Looking at him, he could see it in his eyes as well. He quickly spoke again, not wanting the atmosphere to become heavy.
“But what happened? You were gone for ages.”
“He talked to me like a father. I’ve missed that, you know. I found out how much. He got me to talk, too. Didn’t think I could, really, but when I started, I couldn’t seem to stop. Didn’t want to. It hurt, thinking about everything, at times it was dead embarrassing, but it felt good, like I was getting rid of a lot of it just by talking about it. Then, the headmaster talked about what I said. He’s very smart, you know, and not at all what boys say he is. I quite like him now, and don’t feel scared of him at all. He wants to help me.
“Anyway, we talked about what I told him. He had some clever things to say, and I’m still mulling them over in my head. He’s right; he told me it’ll take me a while to accept some of what he said, and I can see that. It’s easier for me to accept what he said as making good sense than it is to accept it emotionally. But he said we’ll work on that. Oh, and I’m to go to tea with him.”
“When, tomorrow?”
“No, no, I’m to become his regular tea companion, several times a week. I guess he finds it quite dull, having tea alone in that house, and he needs me there to cheer him up.”
Wim lay in his bed, and a smile crept over his face. This time, Liam saw it reach he eyes. Wim just lay there, smiling at his friend for a few moments, thinking how to answer.
“Liam, what happened, really what happened, is you cared enough about me to get me help. You went and found the person that was able to do that. I’ve got a long way to go, I realize that, but I’ve taken the first few steps, and I took them because you were behind me, supporting me. I tried not to let anyone help, I resisted, but you pushed. This is your doing, Liam, and I’m going to be grateful to you forever for it.”
Liam felt tears collecting in his eyes and turned away so they wouldn’t be noticeable. While he was looking the other way, he heard Wim continue.
“Liam, I can’t tell you what I said to the headmaster. How he got me to tell him what I did I’m still not sure, and I don’t have the courage enough to say it again, not now at least. Maybe someday. Maybe. But there is something I can say right now. But I need you to come over here and sit on my bed with me. Please?”
Liam tried to be surreptitious as he wiped his arm over his eyes while standing up. Then he took the two steps to Wim’s bed and sat on the side of it, looking at Wim. Wim then sat up so he was sitting straight on the bed, looking at Liam. He reached out and took his hand.
“Liam, a big part of why I’m feeling better is that I realized that if you care for me, and I can tell you do, there has to be something inside me to care about, something I was refusing to acknowledge. Just knowing that, just thinking about that, is helping.
“But there’s more I have to say. Liam, remember when you asked me if I was gay, and I said I wasn’t anything, I wasn’t interested in sex at all?”
“That was true. And it was only part of the whole. I wasn’t interested in sex, I hadn’t been for months. But before that, I’d gone through a period where I was intensely interested in it, it was about all I thought about. And I had some experience with it. When I came here, everything was different for me. The headmaster told me today I was severely depressed, and that robbed me of all interest in sex. He said being interested in sex is a normal, healthy thing for boys. Since I’ve known you, and you’ve been there for me, I think I’m getting better with the depression. Because, Liam, in the past three weeks, since we’ve been together, I’ve found myself growing very attracted to you.”
“Liam, the sex I had when I was younger was with a man. And I liked it. I liked it lot. I’ve done a lot of thinking, a lot of wondering, why when I was so down about everything, when I was I fact depressed, why I saw you and something about you attracted my interest. No one else affected me that way. But I saw you, and something inside me responded. I’ve never known why, but it was so odd for someone to break through my defences that way, and so I’ve thought about it a lot. And in the past three weeks, I’ve come to recognize what it was. It’s very simple, really. I’m attracted to you. I’m attracted to everything about you. Now that some of the fog that’s been in my head seems to be lifting, it’s easy to see. I’m sure what it is now. I like you a lot, Liam. I might even be falling in love with you, and somehow, my soul seemed to recognize you before my mind did.
“I’m probably gay, Liam. I don’t know, my only sexual thoughts were for a man when I was younger, which is pretty screwed up. But I’ve never felt any of that sort of attraction for a girl. I don’t think about girls at all. The ones I met at my old school didn’t interest me. I did find boys interesting, but not girls. And I find you more than interesting. I follow you with my eyes, I think about you constantly, and I can barely stand it when we’re apart.
“I don’t want to put any pressure on you, Liam. If you don’t have these sorts of feelings for me, I understand. I don’t see how you could.”
Wim stopped, then visibly shook himself. He smiled, a sarcastic smile. “That’s my old way of thinking, that the headmaster told me I had to work to change. I still feel like I’m a loser, though, and don’t see how you could possibly have the feelings for me that I do for you. But I had to tell you what I feel. It just felt right to do so, and I’m feeling so different tonight. I had to tell you.”
Liam was silent. He stared into Wim’s eyes. As the seconds passed, Wim finally dropped his eyes. The emotions he were feeling were too intense, and he didn’t know what Liam was feeling at all.
But then he found out. Liam’s voice was breaking when he spoke, but he spoke through it, determined to speak from his heart.
“Wim, oh Wim, I’ve loved you since we spoke together on the bridge. You’ve done so much for me, I should be grateful, and I am, but it isn’t gratitude I feel for you. It’s love. And I don’t love you just because you saved me. That’s not why I love you. It’s because of who you are, your courage, your compassion, just who you are. Wim, I love you, and never thought you’d love me. Never. Oh, Wim.”
Then he was overcome with emotion, as was Wim. They fell into each other’s arms on Wim’s bed and wept together. After a time, Liam pulled back slightly, looked into Wim’s eyes, and kissed him. It wasn’t a kiss of passion, it was a gentle kiss of love.
When they separated, Liam said, “I’ve wanted to do that for ages. You’re the first boy I’ve ever kissed. That was my first kiss. We’re going to have to do that a lot more, aren’t we? Oh, please say yes!”
Wim smiled, a deeply contented smile. “I still have a lot of healing to do, Liam. And I think kissing you is going to be one of my most effective therapies. I’m ready for my second dose right now.” And he moved back into Liam’s embrace.
19
"Please sit down, Hogsford. Thank you for coming. I have made my decision. Would you like to hear it?"
The headmaster had called Hogsford at his home and asked him to report to his office at the school the next day to hear the outcome of the man’s deliberations.
"Yes, sir. Before you speak, though, sir, can I just say, I'm very sorry if I caused any problems, and I now realize I may have overstepped the mark by becoming unpleasant with Blake, but I knew none of us wanted him here. I should have left that to you though, sir, I understand that now. I should have let you expel him instead of getting involved in it. It wasn't my place, sir. I know now that he and his kind should be left for you, sir."
The headmaster stood up, his back stiff, but his voice remained controlled, even if the words were not.
"I'm not a bit reluctant to say, Hogsford, that what we don't want here is your kind. Bigoted great louts who try to sow their hatred and use their fists when their tongues won't suffice. There is no place for you in this school, and I am very sad that I didn't recognize you sooner. You are hereby expelled, Hogsford, and your parents will be notified of the cause. You are to leave now. Any of your things that have been left behind will be collected for you and sent to your home. We won't be seeing you again, Hogsford. You and I will not be shaking hands. Please leave now. I don't want to look at you. I have assigned someone to accompany you off the grounds. Good bye, Hogsford."
Hogsford's face went slack. He was stunned. He started to speak, saying what he didn't know, but the headmaster held up his hand, then turned away from the boy, dismissing him with his back. When Hogsford had finally left, the headmaster turned and sat down at his desk. He sat staring for a long time at the photograph displayed there.
The End
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