Choices(Waiting for Forever BK 1) (20 page)

Richard came in the back door then, shaking off the rain, but rather than taking off his shoes or setting down his briefcase, he came straight to the table where we were sitting. He was uncharacteristically hesitant when he looked down at me. A strong feeling of unease began to grow in my stomach the longer he didn’t speak. Finally, he set his bag down on the table and put his hand on my shoulder.

“Brian, on my way home today, I saw….” He sighed. “I saw a moving truck at the Mayfields’. There was a For Sale sign in their front yard.”

No!
I screamed the word in my head, trying hard not to let it escape from my lips.
It’s not possible. There has to be an explanation.

My hands started to shake, and that uneasy feeling in my stomach turned to nausea.
They can’t take him away from me, they just can’t. It isn’t possible. He’s the only one on earth who loves me. Without his love, I’m nothing. I’d already lost my parents, the ones who were supposed to always be there.
My chest ached, and I found it hard to breathe.

How can God take him too?

Doesn’t karma owe me one?

I tore out of the kitchen through the back door, barely leaving it on its hinges, and I ran faster than I had ever thought possible. I vaulted over low hedges and scaled fences rather than detouring down alleys. Ignoring the rain as it beat against my skin, my only thought was getting to Jamie. I didn’t know what I thought I could do to stop them, but I had to see him. The shocked looks of people I nearly knocked to the ground as I ran right past held no interest for me.

As I rounded the corner onto Jamie’s street, I saw the moving truck pull away from the curb. It was a huge blue semi truck, big enough to hold the contents of their entire house.
Oh God, it’s true.
I screamed, unable to stop the wounded sound being torn from me. I didn’t care who could hear me; I didn’t care who else was on the street watching them leave with sick fascination.

It isn’t possible. He can’t be gone.

The front door of the Mayfield house banged open, and Jamie came running out, no doubt having heard my scream. He threw his arms around me and just kept saying over and over, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” Both his hands were fisted in the back of my wet hair, holding my face against his shoulder. I couldn’t bring myself to pull back to look at his face; the heartbreak in his voice was staggering. He was shaking with the sobs he was trying hard to contain. I closed my eyes and just held him, trying to memorize his scent, the feeling of him in my arms, the sound of his low breathing. Soon, too soon, I would have nothing.

His father came down the steps with an umbrella held over his head, and I watched him walk toward us with a slow and heavy gait. It was evident he didn’t want to leave, but as he passed us on the walk, he said, “You have five minutes, son, and then we need to be on our way. We have a very long drive ahead of us.” The fear and pain ripped through me, and I gripped him tighter.

“Where?” I asked, nearly choking on the word.

“San Diego,” he whispered. “My father requested a transfer, and it came through last week. They wouldn’t let me see you to tell you. I tried to get out, but I couldn’t.” The emotion finally broke through, and his voice was soon heavy with sobs. I held him tighter, trying to find some measure of comfort for us, but the effort was wasted.

“Jamie, it’s time to go,” Mrs. Mayfield called from the car, obviously trying to avoid a scene. Two boys holding each other on the front lawn was attracting attention she apparently didn’t want, even despite the rain. I didn’t know what the difference was if she was moving halfway across the country. She could wait.

“I’ll find you,” I told him, my breath catching on the last word. He nodded, even though we both knew how difficult it would be to keep my word. My hands clutched at his shirt as my hair became plastered to my forehead. He pushed it away and then, to my surprise, kissed me right there on his front lawn. Desperately our lips met over and over before he pulled away.

I was terrified now. It was all I could do to keep from screaming. Their house was packed, and they were taking him and leaving. They might as well tear open my chest, which may actually have hurt less than them taking my Jamie. I wanted to run, to take him and hide. My panic swelled as he pulled back a little further.

“Never forget that I love you,” he said softly, just above the sound of the rain, before he turned and walked to the car. My knees gave out before he reached the sidewalk, and I landed heavily on the grass. Jamie climbed into the back seat, then turned and watched me as his father pulled away from the curb.

Then a horrible thought came to me, one that burned the hole in my chest caused by his departure. I hadn’t told him I loved him. He told me never to forget, and I didn’t tell him. I screamed his name into the rain, begging the car to stop, for him to come back. But he was gone.

I sat with my back against the hastily erected For Sale sign, feeling the rain mingle with the tears as he left me, taking every bit of my hope, my joy, and my life with him.

13

“H
EY
!
McAllister!”

The voice rose above the obnoxiously loud teenage noise of the south stairwell. My stomach churned, the acid rising and rolling in it as I sped up slightly. I wished they’d just leave me the hell alone. Unfortunately, they showed every sign of hounding me for the rest of the school year, and damn it, it was going to be hard enough without Jamie. In the back of my mind, I could still see him in the back of his parents’ car as they drove him out of my life.

“McAllister!” I heard again and finally stopped halfway down the second staircase, looking up to see that everyone else had stopped too. They wanted to watch, most likely to affirm their own superiority because it wasn’t them being tormented. The sun shone brightly from the window behind the speaker, giving him an almost ethereal glow. Dust and other particulates swirled and danced in the air around him, slowly, like the world had suddenly and inexplicably halted.

Even with the sun in my eyes and the shadow across his face, there was no mistaking Brad Mosely.

“I heard Jamie Mayfield had to leave town because his mom caught you guys screwing! Even my sister saw you guys kissing the day they moved!” His voice drowned out most of the shocked gasps from the onlookers, but not all. They were background noise as I focused my attention solely on him and tried to ignore the sudden heat in my face and the faint trembling of my hands. I didn’t know that Emma had seen us, but that certainly explained why I was suddenly a social outcast, especially so early in the school year. I’d never been particularly popular, and I expected to be even less so now that I wasn’t going to be in Jamie’s protective shadow. I hadn’t expected to become a pariah.

He came down a few more stairs so he towered over me, two stairs up. “So, is it true? Are you a stupid little faggot?”

Literally blocking out the sun, he loomed above me. Mosely was already half a foot taller; the extra height from the stairs forced me to look almost straight up in order to watch my future pain build in his dark brown eyes. Everything about Mosely was thick, from his shaggy brown hair to the features of his face, his head, and his hands. There was no place to run, but I was going to try.

I should have known better than to turn my back.

I felt his forearm dig into both of my shoulder blades as he used his weight to push me. Instinctively, I grabbed onto the railing, allowing my book bag to fly down the rest of the stairs and spill open across the bottom. I tripped and stumbled, my momentum swinging me toward the wall as I tried desperately to regain my footing and minimize the damage. Finally, my foot found a solid hold just as my face slammed into the railing. The force of the blow busted my lower lip, and a protruding piece of metal ripped open my forehead.

I landed hard on the stairs, still holding onto the railing, dazed by the exploding pain.

“What the hell is going on here?” Another voice was coming from directly above my head, but I couldn’t see who was speaking because of the blood flowing into my eyes. The teacher was male, but all I could make out were the brown loafers. “Brenda, go into the bathroom and get some wet paper towels. The rest of you get to class.
Now
!”

It took a moment, in the haze of pain, for me to recognize the voice. It was Mr. Barnes, our art teacher. Of course, it had to be the queer teacher coming to my rescue. No doubt the rumors would fly if people thought I was banging the art teacher. I hoped he would just give me something to clean up the blood and leave, but as always, luck was not on my side.

“Brian, can you sit up?” he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle in contrast to the harsh tone he had used with everyone else.

“It figures you’d take up for him,” Brad Mosely said in an undertone just loud enough for me to hear, startling me because I thought he’d left with the others. I shrank into the wall on pure instinct. My face and back throbbed with the sudden movement.

“I said go to class. That goes for you too, Mr. Mosely. I have a feeling you’ll end up in the principal’s office anyway, but if you don’t want to end up there immediately, you’ll do as I say!” Mr. Barnes was furious. It also sounded like he knew it had been Mosely who’d pushed me down the stairs, but I was in no position to either confirm or deny it. The top of my shirt was spotted and stained with blood. I felt it, warm and sticky, almost halfway down the side of my face. Just as I’d pulled myself up to a semi-sitting position, Mosely aimed a kick at me as he walked by, catching me on the outside of my right thigh. I cried out in pain, unshed tears blurring my vision.

“
That’s it
!” Mr. Barnes roared as I curled up as small as I could next to the wall, trying to protect myself from any further attacks. “Mosely, go to the principal’s office and wait for me.
Go
!”

Just then, I felt something cold and wet being applied to my face, and I flinched. My limbs shook uncontrollably as I pulled away.

“It’s okay, Brian. It’s just to get the blood off your face until we can get you to the nurse,” Mr. Barnes said in a low, comforting voice. I took the paper towel from him and saw Brenda, the girl I had pretended to go on a date with to hide what Jamie and I were. She looked shocked and upset. Mr. Barnes shooed her back to class, and after a long look at me, she went. Once the blood was out of my eyes, I held the paper towel to the cut and tentatively stretched out my legs, very slowly, starting to stand. The dirt and the grime from the stairs stung a scrape on my palm as I pushed myself up. As Mr. Barnes tried to help me, I waved him off, even though my leg felt cramped and shaky. The last thing I wanted was to be touched. Much to my relief, the stairs and even the hallway beyond were deserted. There would be fewer witnesses to my weakness and shame. My lower back was killing me from where I’d landed on the stairs, and my head pounded. I closed my eyes, feeling a little dizzy.

“Come on, I’ll take you to the nurse,” he offered, trying to put his hand on my arm.

I pulled away. “No, I have to get to class.”

His eyes were almost overflowing with concern and compassion as he watched me, unsteady on my feet. I kept my hand on the wall for balance as I stood, half stooped, trying to take the pressure off my back. As I forced myself to use slow, measured breaths, my heart finally stopped trying to beat its way out of my chest from fear. Everything became clearer as I started to calm down. I couldn’t let them win; I refused to let them think they’d won. Showing up in my next class, no matter how battered and bloody, would show them I wasn’t going to just roll over for them. If I let them terrorize me, it would never stop, and it would be a really long year.

“You’re not going to class, not like this. We need to get you checked out. You could have serious injuries.”

By the way my body felt, I couldn’t really disagree with him. It hurt. It hurt like hell. I just couldn’t let them get the better of me, because that would hurt worse, but it appeared I didn’t have a choice. He had taken out his cell phone and dialed the office.

“Betty, it’s Kyle Barnes. I need an emergency number for Brian McAllister’s father.” There was a short pause while he listened, and then, “Yes, Brian McAllister. Thank you.” He listened again and then pulled the phone away, hit the end button, and dialed another number.

“Dr. Schreiber, this is Kyle Barnes from Crayford High School,” he said in an authoritative manner. “Yes, it’s about Brian; he has been injured. He has a cut on his forehead and on the right side of his lip, and probably some serious bruising. It seems he fell down the stairs.” He looked at me, and I wondered if he’d tell Richard how I had come to fall down the stairs, as Richard knew I wasn’t particularly accident-prone. “No, I have a free period now. I can bring him down with your permission…. Okay, we’ll see you in about ten minutes.” He closed the phone and dropped it back into his pocket.

“Can you walk?” he asked with real concern. It felt like he wasn’t worried just because I’d been hurt on school property, or in front of him, but because he was genuinely concerned about me. Briefly, I wondered about his own past, what he’d had to endure growing up gay. I didn’t think I’d ever really considered Mr. Barnes as a person until right then. The compassion and understanding he was showing told me that he’d been bullied a few times himself. But that conversation would have to wait, because as I started to walk, my head still spinning, it was all I could do to remain upright.