A Helping Hand
By: DL
(Copyright 2007 by the Author)
The author retains all rights. No reproductions are
allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...
dl@tickiestories.us
We left the Currys store and walked back to the car. Once we'd both got in and fastened our belts I turned to Juan and handed him the bag with the Walkman and headphones as well as the one with his CDs. He looked inside the larger bag – he hadn't been there when I paid for it – saw the headphones and pulled them out, looking questioningly at me as he did so.
I smiled at him and said, "Yes, they're for you as well. They're far better than the ones that come with the Walkman." He looked at them and then pulled the boxed Walkman out of the bag and looked at that – almost as if checking that it really was there. Then he put them back in the bag and added the smaller one containing his CDs. He sighed, taking a deep breath and then looked down, almost guiltily, as he said, "You really didn't have to buy me these, any of them. I really appreciate everything that you've done for me and I know that I've been totally unreasonable in the way I acted about the doctor's. I can't say how sorry I am, and this just makes me feel worse." He started to cry gently, and it was nearly enough to make me start as well.
I unclipped my belt and leaned over to comfort him, putting my arm round his shoulders and holding him close to me – something I'd never done in public before with anyone. I had no idea what to say, and just hugged him. He continued to cry and, not knowing what to do for the best, I let him for several minutes.
Eventually I thought he'd cried enough and I let him go and sat back in my seat. Reaching over, I gently held his chin and raised his face towards me: "Juan, please; I feel as bad as you do. Why not dry your eyes and let's go somewhere private and have that talk we never seem to have. I think if we both explained why we feel the way we do we can probably help each other to deal with our problems, OK?"
He looked at me, blinked his eyes several times and slowly stopped crying. I let go of his chin, cursing the fact that I hadn't any tissues in the car, but I remembered the unused handkerchief I carried in my trousers. I extracted it and handed it to him, saying, "Come on, pal: this is doing neither of us any good. What do you say?" He took the hankie and dried his eyes, then blew his nose.
He sat there for a couple of moments, looking down and then looked up at me and said, "You have problems as well?" I smiled at him sadly, and said "Yep; they're not all yours you know." He looked away as he said, "I'm sorry that I've just added to them; that seems all I'm good for."
I reached across again and turned his face back to me: "Don't be so stupid – and you should never assume things. You actually have been very good for me – though there's no reason that you would know it. So let's go and find somewhere to talk as we both have some explaining to do." He looked at me steadily for a short time and then quietly said, "OK, you deserve an explanation. Even if you'll probably not want to have anything to do with me once you know it all."
"I just told you not to make assumptions. I'm not the smartest form of life in the world, but I think I realised back at MFI what your problem was; and if I'm right and its that you're gay, then you really don't have anything to worry about for now. So, can we go and finally talk to one another openly?"
Juan blanched when I speculated about him being gay, and I knew I was right. "You bought me these even though you'd guessed I was a queer?" Juan said, a strange look on his face. "Juan, please, don't judge everyone by your father's behaviour. Now, that's enough of talking here. Save it for a few minutes, OK?"
We moved off, I stopped briefly at the Sainsbury's petrol station and got some fuel as well as some bottles of Diet Coke and cartons of chilled orange juice. Once back in the car, I headed off back down the A45 towards Cambridge, turning off at the last Bury St Edmunds exit and then heading down Tut Hill – one of my least favourite places [and conversely one of Suffolk Constabulary's most popular places for a radar trap: the hill was such that it was damn near impossible to do the required 30 m.p.h. through the houses at the bottom – yes, I'd got several tickets there!].
It only took about 20 minutes to reach the West Stow Saxon Village: I'd chosen it because it was far enough away from anywhere I was known and it was usually deserted on weekdays outside the summer holiday season; plus it had a selection of wooden picnic tables!
We both got out of the car, and I picked up the bag of drinks and motioned for Juan to follow me. It was further than I really wanted to take him, but I thought the tables by the lake were the best place for us to have a talk. It took about ten minutes to reach the lake, with Juan looking around at the wildlife that abounded in the area as we made our way there.
We stopped at one of the tables with a good view of the lake: as I'd thought, we were alone. I sat one side of the table and Juan gingerly eased himself in the other side. I smiled at him, and gave him a carton of orange juice, putting the bag on the table to one side as I extracted a 500ml bottle of Diet Coke.
"OK, Juan, this isn't going to be easy for either of us; but as I'm not the one that's been kicked out of his home and beaten up by a gang of thugs, I'll go first." I stopped and took a deep swig at the Coke.
"I've never told anybody else this before, and to be frank with you, if it wasn't for what's obviously happened to you, I wouldn't be telling this to you either. The fact is, Juan, that I'm gay as well. But that's got nothing to do with why you're here or why I said that you'd helped me. Do you remember last night" – as I said it I thought to myself 'Was it really only last night?' so much had happened since then – "when I called my boss just after we had reached my house?" He nodded as I said this, blushed furiously and looked away.
"Well, Juan, the reason I stumbled across you when those traveller kids were beating the shit out of you was that I'd had a bad row with a colleague of mine at work." I paused to take another drink from my bottle, as he looked at me curiously, "I left work in a rush and drove like a lunatic to work my anger out, because I knew that if I stayed, I was going to lose my temper very badly and probably have a fight with the guy – well, to be honest, that's not true – I don't think that after I'd thumped him that fighting would have been an option." I smiled wryly as I said that, and took another swig of Coke.
"I was heading home the back way when I stumbled across you, and I really couldn't leave you in the state you were in. And the reason that I said back outside Currys that you'd helped me is that you've taken my mind off my problems totally. My problems are trivial compared to the shit that you've been through, but if I hadn't met you I would still have been screwed up by the stupidity that's going on at work. So, in a nutshell, that's the shortened form of my side. So – are you going to tell me what happened to you?"
He paused for a while, sipping from his orange juice, and finally looked at me and said: "So are you really a queer like me?" I blanched as he said it, and replied, "Juan, I would prefer that you didn't use that term as I'm not comfortable with it; but yes, I didn't lie to you, I've known since I was eleven that I liked guys and not girls. So, like you, I'm gay."
He looked at me speculatively, and said, "So, is that why you stopped and picked me up?"
I stared at him for far too long, lost for words, and finally replied, "You seem to have a talent for being offensive. I've not made any attempt at hitting on you, nor will I, simply because my hang-up is reconciling my homosexuality with the religious beliefs that I grew up with and do believe in. And in any event, it wasn't until we were in MFI that it dawned on me what your problem probably was. So, don't judge everyone by the standards set by your father. I don't think I've done anything to you to deserve that."
He started to cry, and I was so uptight that I couldn't bring myself to comfort him: I sat there silently seething while he once more cried his eyes out.
Eventually, after nearly five minutes had passed with me sitting there grim-faced and him crying quietly to himself, his head buried in his arms on the table, he seemed to have cried himself out. It took another couple of minutes while he composed himself and then he raised his head, reached into his pocket and extracting my hankie again wiped his by now red-rimmed eyes and blew his nose again.
Finally, head bowed again, he said, "I'm sorry, you're right: you've been nothing but kind and considerate towards me. And if you hadn't said at the start that you were gay, I wouldn't have known, so I can hardly accuse you of taking advantage of me." He stopped and forced himself to raise his head; I could sense that he was uncomfortable. "Will you forgive me?" he said, looking at me through his one tear-stained good eye.
"Only if you can bring yourself to stop feeling sorry for yourself and let me help you." I replied. "Perhaps you can start by explaining exactly how a nice kid like you gets kicked out by his dad?"
He looked uncomfortable and shifted in his seat a bit before saying, "You said you had religious beliefs?" I nodded at the implied question, and said: "True, and though I'm not about to get into that can of worms with you here and now, they wouldn't have made me kick you out were you my son. Nor does my homosexuality and your homosexuality have anything to do with my offering you a place to stay while you recover: it's an obligation of Christian charity to help others whenever one can."
He and I both took recourse to our respective drinks and then he looked up at me and said, "I suppose I would have to say that I'm a Catholic, as my parents were; and I've been raised in the faith all my life. But, like you, I've known for several years now that I liked guys. I've kept that very quiet and had no problem hiding it away. But what caused the upset was one of the kids at school brought his big brother's stash of porno mags to school for distribution – his brother had his own house and was getting married, so he gave it to his kid brother, and the kid was too scared to keep them himself at home. Anyway, they soon disappeared, but there were a couple of gay ones that nobody wanted and I managed to get away during class and swiped them. Unfortunately, I didn't hide them very well and our cleaning lady pointed the 'filth', as she called it, out to dad."
At this point, he [and I], both needed a drink – and despite being a teetotaller for medical reasons since I was twenty-two, I was almost craving some alcohol!
Juan continued, "Dad caught me when I got home from school and flung the books at me. I was stunned and didn't know what to say. I just stood there and he said, 'Well, that filth is yours, isn't it?' I couldn't say anything and he slapped me hard around my face and said, 'Speak to me, you little faggot!' I started to run for the stairs, and he grabbed me and said, 'You're not going anywhere in this house. I'm not having a queer like you in this house disgracing me and leading Javier astray. You can get out now and take that filth of yours with you.' I started to say 'But Dad…' and he slapped me again and said 'Just get out, you're not my son.' and he opened the door and bundled me out and then bent down and picked up the magazines and threw them at me." Saying this had been an effort, and as he finished he was crying again; this time I couldn't help myself and I got up and went and sat down beside him and hugged him as he wept once more.
To be continued …
Posted: 04/03/07