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
Juan wept long and hard: it was obvious that he'd reached a watershed and the dam had burst. All his emotions about what had happened with his father welled to the surface and his slender frame was wracked by his uncontrollable and unashamed crying.
I wasn't in a position to do much to help him, as his very brief recounting of events before he'd broken down had had almost as bad an effect on me. I hugged him and held him close to me, feeling the streams of his tears soaking through my shirt, while I gently stroked the nape of his neck and tried not to join him in his emotional turmoil.
It was far worse this time than when he'd been upset about him and me – and I could understand that. I couldn't begin to imagine how I would have been if a similar scene had been played out in my life. Eventually, his body stopped convulsing, as the deeply-seated emotions that he'd buried so far down over the last six days worked their way out of his system. His crying became less audible and eventually stopped, as did the torrent of tears: my shirt – as well as his – was literally soaked though.
I continued to hug him and gently stroked his head and neck and he finally quietened. I waited several minutes to hopefully allow him time to settle down, and then gently tickled the nape of his neck just to remind him that he wasn't alone and quietly said: "Hey, you OK now, do you feel a bit better?" There was no response for a while and then he pulled himself together and raised his head up and looked at me; he was still resting his head on my chest, and I made no move to push him away: I felt he had been rejected enough already.
I really felt for him, seeing his tear-stained face – you could see where they had run down his face – and his red-rimmed eyes. He just leant against me and looked at me for several minutes and I kept both quiet and still, sensing that what was taking place was a pivotal moment in some way.
Finally, he quietly said, "Thanks, I do feel so much better now; it's almost like the sun has finally come out for me." I just looked at him and gently hugged him closer – he didn't resist – and said, "We all need someone in our lives Juan, and I'm truly sorry about your dad." As I said that he lowered his head again and I once more gave him a squeeze and then stroked his neck again.
We sat like that for another five minutes or so, and as his breathing had become both more rhythmic and regular, I thought he'd reached a plateau for now. I rocked him gently, and said, "We're both soaked, so I guess we'd be better off heading home and changing. We can finish the conversation then. I think we're both past the worst now, aren't we?" He slowly nodded his head and I helped him up.
It took us longer to get back to the car as I walked with his arm round my shoulders: he was very clingy, almost as if afraid that now I knew his secret I, too, would reject him. Deep down, given my own feelings, I could well understand how he felt – it was a fear I well knew.
Back at the car, having made sure he was strapped in, I lost no time in heading home, by-passing Bury St Edmunds and simply heading directly home via back roads that I knew very well. It didn't take long, and I ushered him down the hall, saying, "Go and wash your face and change your shirt, and I'll book us a table at the restaurant for tonight." He looked at me, and said, "You're still going to take me out for a meal?" I can't describe the tone of his voice; there were too many emotions mixed up in it. I, too, felt emotional about it – though for different reasons – and reaching out to him, I turned him round, unresisting, so he was fully facing me, and then pulled him into a hug. "Of course I am; and Julian's coming as well." I held him at arm's length and looked guiltily floor-wards, searching for the words I needed.
Juan didn't try to escape my grip, but quietly said, "Dave?" I looked up, and saw him pensively looking at me, sensing my discomfort and I sighed, saying, "Juan, I'm sorry, but I have to be truthful now and say that as we weren't managing to talk to one another I bought the Walkman for you, intending to ask you to use it, so I could talk to Julian about you while we drove to the restaurant." I was on the verging of losing it and couldn't have managed to say any more if I'd wanted to. Juan simply removed my hands from his arms and reached out and grasped me, pulling us together. He quietly said, "That's OK; I guess I can see your difficulty, but it's not necessary now: I know now that I can talk to you."
As he finished saying that he hugged me close to him and said, "I was too scared when you first showed up that it was just a dream. And then when you cared enough for me to take me with you, clean me up and feed me I was sure that as soon as you knew even a little bit about me you'd turn on me just like dad." He was on the verge of breaking down again: I could feel it radiating from his body as he hugged me. I gently broke his hug and said, "Hopefully, now, you're sure that isn't going to happen any time soon; go on, scoot and clean yourself up, while I change my shirt and book a table. We can talk while we're waiting for the time to pass then." After saying that, I hugged him again, not wanting him to think that I just wanted to be rid of him. Then I let him go and turned back to the lounge, while he carried on down to the bedroom.
I raided the airing cupboard for another shirt and a towel and towelled Juan's tears off my chest, chucking the shirt in the washer/dryer. I looked up the Coaching House's number and was surprised to find that they could find a table for us at eight o'clock. I booked a table for three and gave them my credit card number, and made a note of the authorisation number they gave me.
Then I went and made myself a coffee [I just know this next bit is going to horrify a whole lot of you 'real' coffee-lovers!]; like my dad – who had instilled his love of it in me – I just loved Camp coffee [LOL - and before anybody cracks a gag about it being appropriate for a gay: my dad definitely wasn't one!]: I think it was the chicory that I loved so much. Taking that and another carton of orange juice with me, I returned to the lounge and the bed/settee.
Juan soon appeared: he'd changed into the dark, royal blue, long-sleeved shirt we'd got him earlier that afternoon at Tesco: he looked really cute. I motioned him over to sit beside me on the bed/settee and handed him the orange juice. He opened it and sipped slowly for a bit while I enjoyed my coffee. When I had finished it I put the cup down on the floor beside me and watched Juan as he slowly finished his OJ. He looked round as he finished, and I realised he was wondering what to do with the carton, so I took it from him and put it down beside my cup [he was in the middle of the settee, on my left].
I reached out and put my arm round his shoulders and pulled him towards me: he looked at me questioningly. I smiled at him, and said, "Don't worry, I meant what I said about my religion and the conflict with my homosexuality. I just want you to know a couple of things: I'll happily love you like a son and be there for you as a father should when you have any problems; but that's the most there can ever be between us. I didn't pick you up thinking you'd make a good sex toy or anything else like that. I guess, given how screwed up I am, I should have become a priest – at least celibacy hasn't been a problem for me yet!"
He smiled at the allusion to a priest and relaxed, as I continued, "As far as I'm concerned, you have a home here as long as you need it and you respect me and my home: that's all I ask. Its going to take a bit of getting used to having someone else in the house, so bear with me while we work it out, OK?"
He looked up at me and smiled, saying, "Like I've already said you've been too kind and considerate already, and I can't thank you enough both for what you've done so far and for the offer of a place to stay…" his emotions overcame him at this point and he leaned against my chest as he started sobbing again. I pushed him away and gently shook him, as I 'sshhed' him; he looked up at me as I held him away from me and I grinned and said, "Hey, I've only had this shirt on twenty minutes!" It was enough to get him back from the brink, and he smiled wanly and said, "Thanks!"
I eased him back onto the settee, saying, "So, are you up to me asking you what happened after your dad had chucked you out?" His smile faded, and was replaced by a haunted look. I quickly said, "Juan, if you're not able to explain or not ready to, it doesn't matter; it can wait." He looked at me and in a serious voice for one so young, said, "No, I think it's best to get it all out now, and maybe I can start to put it behind me." He paused and I kept quiet, not wanting to distract him.
After several minutes he looked up at me and said, "What really hurt me the most was that dad wouldn't let me see or say anything to Javier. I tried ringing the bell after he'd shut the door; it only rang a couple of times before he must have switched it off. I tried knocking on the door with the doorknocker and as he couldn't do anything about that he eventually opened the door. 'If you don't stop making a nuisance of yourself I'll just call the police and have them remove you' he said. 'But dad,' I started to say and he cut me off with, 'You're no son of mine, so get lost before I call the police.' And then he shut the door again. I sat on the path outside the house and cried; he just ignored me and the lights went out: he'd obviously gone to bed. I hadn't seen Javier when I got home; he got let out earlier than me."
Juan paused and looked at the floor, composing himself. "That night I slept in our garden shed: well, slept isn't the right word. Anyway, as daylight came, I hung out down the street hoping that I could talk to Javier on his way to school. But he'd thought of that as he drove him to school, just glaring at me as he passed. I couldn't see Javier, he didn't look out the window. I tried walking to his school and asking at the office if I could see him; I explained that I was his brother and they didn't bother asking for identification, they simply said he wasn't there. I thought that was strange and asked if they were sure, and that got me some funny looks. Eventually, as I wasn't going anywhere, one of them asked me for some identification and once I had shown her my school pass and ID she said, 'Well, you should know that your brother has started a new school, he doesn't attend here any more.' I nearly broke down and cried then, but I knew I had to get away from there before that happened."
Juan looked down again, swallowed several times, and continued. "I just roamed the streets that day; I didn't want to go to school. I was afraid that the kids would know about me and of what they would do. I couldn't face the uncertainty, so I just stayed away. I went back and hung around home, hoping that I could talk to Javier or maybe dad when they got home. They never came. I don't know where they were, but they never came home that night; I just cried myself to sleep in the shed again."
By this time I was emotionally wiped out, and like Juan earlier, on the verge of losing it. I reached out toward him, intent on stopping him, and he recoiled from me, obviously he could sense my feelings, saying, "No, Dave; I need to finish now I've started, please let me finish!"
It was as much as I could do to nod. He continued, "I got some food at a local café later that morning and just wandered aimlessly. I went back home about the time Javier would have normally arrived home and stayed all that evening: again nobody came home. That's when I decided that I needed to get away and I just started walking the next morning: I had no idea of where to go or anything; I just wanted to get away. Those next few days I'd managed to find somewhere to shelter during the night and I'd been using my money to buy food and drink. Then on the fifth day – the day you found me – I was walking down this road when I was surrounded by those kids. They wouldn't let me pass and started pushing me from one to another; eventually I fell over and instead of helping me up, a couple of them pinned me down while one of them took everything out of my pockets. When they found my school pass they started making fun of me being a spic going to a posh school. I'd managed to get up, and I tried to grab my wallet and papers, but the leader just stepped back and the others started to punch me, and then when I fell down they started to kick me. Then you arrived."
To be continued …
Posted: 04/07/07