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Staring into my room I couldn't believe it. I heard voices coming down the hall so I quickly shut the door. I didn't want them to see what I saw. I was so angry. I headed down the hall and banged on the door of the RA for our floor, Steve. After a few seconds the door opened and Steve appeared. "What's the idea banging on the door so hard, Tristan?" He asked. "Sorry Steve," I replied. "Can you come with me? My room's been trashed." "What?" He grabbed his keys off of his desk and came out into the hall. He shut his door and we headed down the hallway to my room. The dorm wasn't anything extravagant, that's for sure. The walls were cinder block that had been painted white and the floor was black linoleum tiles. The doors for each room and the bathrooms were red and steel. Some of the doors were open and music came from several rooms. We reached my door and I put my key into the lock and opened it for Steve. He looked in the room and whistled. "Oh" was all he could say after he finished whistling. We entered the room and I shut the door after us. The posters I had put up on the walls back in August were torn down and were in little pieces on the floor. My schoolbooks, the ones that weren't with me in my backpack, were ripped and strewn about the room. My footlocker had been broken into and the items in there had been trashed as well. Steve walked over toward the bed. It was while he was doing this that I noticed that all of Tom's stuff was gone. I was about to ask him about that when he said something. "Is it true?" I turned to look at him. "Is what true?" He pointed at the floor and the bed. I walked over toward him and that's when I noticed. It wasn't just that whoever trashed my stuff had destroyed my belongings; they also had used them to spell out words, actually the same word, over and over. The clothes were in ripped and in piles that spelled out FAG. The books had been ripped and they spelled out the same thing on the floor. Nothing was left untouched and everything had been piled so that it spelled out FAG. "So, is it true?" Steve asked again, more quietly. I sat down on my bed amongst the ruins of my possessions. "Does it matter? Whether I am or not is now irrelevant." "Why do you say that?" "Well, think about it. I can say I'm straight until I'm blue in the face, but it's obvious that someone, or a few different people think I'm gay, and my saying I'm straight isn't going to change that." "Yeah, I suppose so. I hadn't thought about it that way." He looked around the room anymore. "Do you have any idea who could of done this?" Images of the guys who were taunting me earlier in the day flash in my mind. "No, nobody specific." Although he's never said anything about it to me, it is suspicious that Tom's stuff is gone. Wonder if he knows? "Oh hey, where did Tom go?" "Tom? Oh he checked out yesterday and took most of his stuff home. He finished up today. He said something about going to his grandparents in Florida for the holiday break and having to leave for the airport right after his last final so he took everything home now." He paused for a few seconds. "You don't think he had anything to do with this do you?" "No, I don't. Honestly I don't know who did." I stood up off the bed and looked around again. "So what do I do now?" "That's up to you. I have to file a report with the head of the dorms but it doesn't look like any university property was damaged, just your stuff. You could report it to the campus police I suppose." I turned to look at him. "Are you saying I shouldn't bother?" "No, that's entirely up to you. But even if it isn't true, like you said, the perception is there. I'm not sure the cp would do anything about it." "Why wouldn't they? They don't investigate hate crimes?" "I wouldn't call this a hate crime." "Why not? If I were Jewish and they had put my stuff in the form of swastikas it would be called a hate crime. If I were black and they had spelled out the N word, it would be called a hate crime. Why isn't this considered a hate crime?" "Cause it's just not." "Why not?" "Cause it's...you know. Fag stuff." "It's still a hate crime though." "I don't think so. Not in this state, not at this university. I'd have to check but I don't think there's anything in the school handbook on it." "Just great." "Why does it matter? If you're not gay..." "Whether I am or not Steve, this is still wrong. How would you feel if someone targeted you for something that you have no control over?" "I wouldn't like it, but this is different." "Why?" He looked at me exasperated, like he couldn't understand why I couldn't see his point of view. "If I was black, I couldn't change that, but being a fag..." "Isn't something you can change either. It's not like underwear, Steve." "Well, I still don't think it's a hate crime." Now I was getting pissed at him. It was bad enough that someone had done this to my stuff, and this was pretty much all of the stuff that I owned, but now the RA, the guy who's supposed to be there for us is being less than sympathetic. "Ok, whatever." He didn't say anything for a couple of minutes. "Well, I suppose I should go and fill out the incident report. You gonna call the cp?" "Probably. Even if it won't do any good, I probably should." He headed toward the door. "Good luck with that. But I don't think they'll do anything." I didn't say anything back as he shut the door behind him. I walked over to the phone and dialed the campus police and told the person who answered my phone that my room had broken into and my property had been destroyed. They told me that they'd send a couple of police officers over to look into it shortly. * * * I shut the door behind the cops as they left. I was still angry. Angrier than I was when I found my room like this. Angrier than when Steve told me that the cops wouldn't see it as a hate crime and wouldn't do much to investigate it. It was bad enough that they looked at me with distaste after I showed them the damage and they saw that it spelled out FAG, but then they so much as said that it was my fault cause I was gay. Yeah, like I asked someone to come into my room and destroy my stuff cause I was born liking guys instead of girls. "FUCK!" I yelled as a slammed my fist into the wall. Oh shit, that wasn't such a good idea. Slamming your fist into concrete cinder blocks. Not a good idea. Now my hand hurt. I grabbed at the stuff on my bed, the clothes that spelled out FAG and I threw them across the room. They scattered all over the place. I hate this shit. First I lose Justyn cause I was scared at being outted to my parents and now my room gets trashed. I grabbed more clothes and threw them. I kicked at the books and broken cds on the floor. My vision started blurring as the tears came. I continued to kick at the books and the cds until I couldn't see them anymore and finally collapsed on the bed A door slamming near by woke me up. I was still in the clothes I was wearing that day, on the bed pretty much where I had fallen. I rubbed my eyes as I sat up. The room was pitch black. Well, I obviously didn't sleep till the next morning. I got up off the bed and stumbled my way across the room to the light switch by the door. I flicked it on and was instantly blinded. The overhead florescent light was extremely bright. I had to blink several times before I could actually see again. It was just after ten. Great. I'd been asleep for quite a while. So much for going to the housing office to see about changing rooms for next semester. I looked around the room at the mess. I opened my footlocker and started throwing stuff into it. The tears threatened to return but fortunately didn't. It took me an hour to get everything picked up so it looked like the room had never been lived it. I looked around the room. Fuck it. I can't stay here. Not now. Not with this all over campus. No matter what room I switch to I'm gonna be harassed. Nothing left to do now but grab my trunk and head home. I opened the door and grabbed for the trunk. It seemed heavier than when I moved in back in August. There's nothing more in then when I started. Stuff that's torn up must be much heavier than stuff that's whole. One cool thing I discovered about this trunk is that one end had some small wheels. It made it easier to move. I just had to tip up the end that didn't have wheels and drag it along. I slowed down when I came to Justyn's door. Justyn. What to do about Justyn? I just couldn't leave without saying good-bye, but he didn't want to talk to me. That much was obvious. He hadn't stopped by; he hadn't called me. I raised my left hand to knock on the door and my shirt fell back from my watch. It was after eleven. I stopped just before my hand would have hit the door. It was too late. Fuck. If he didn't hate me now, he would once he found out I was gone. I lowered my hand and continued down the hallway. I dragged my trunk down the several flights of stairs without running into anyone. I stopped when I got to the mailbox area. I let the trunk down and I grabbed an envelope from the area next to the mailboxes. I put the keys from my dorm room in them and wrote Steve's name on it, my room number and dropped it in the mail slot for the RA's. I grabbed the trunk again and walked outside to the parking area and to my truck. I dropped the tailgate and put the trunk in the bed of my truck. I secured it with bungee cords and closed the tailgate and got into the truck and started it up. It took it a couple of seconds to catch. I'd not driven it much lately and apparently she didn't like that. I put the truck into first and headed off into the night. As I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road, I hit the power button on the stereo. I got no sound for a second and then a song came on. I must have left the disc in the stereo. Well, I had one at least that wasn't smashed. And this song fits perfectly. I hit the repeat button and turned it up and Love Spit Love filled the air with "How Soon Is It Now?". I am the son I listened to the song for most of the way home. The campus was only like a half hour away by car, so it's not that far away, but I wanted to live on campus. Maybe I should have stayed at home and commuted but I didn't wanna live at home anymore. I just couldn't. I don't get along with my parents. My father ran the household like we were his servants, not his family. My mother wouldn't dare talk back to him, or stand up to him. No matter what I did in school, or what sports I played, it wasn't good enough for him. I definitely think that he blames me for the fact that mom can't have any more kids. Hey, it's not my fault! I don't even remember back that far, how the hell was I supposed to be aware when I'm developing in the womb that I'm going to be the only child because of the fact that something goes wrong during my birth? Shouldn't he at least be happy that he got a healthy baby? I turned down the radio as I got off the main road and onto my street. My father always left for work early and he hated being woken up. I pulled into the driveway and parked on the side so he could get his car out of the garage in the morning. The light on the side porch came on as I got out of the car. I decided to leave the ruined stuff from my dorm room in the truck. It's not like anyone would steal it here. I quietly entered the house and headed down into the basement where my room was located. The basement. Seems kind of appropriate for a place to live since my folks never really cared about me anyway. Yeah, I used to have a bedroom upstairs, but then my father decided he needed a home office. He never used it much, but that didn't matter. We have a three-bedroom house and where is my bedroom? In a corner in the basement. I didn't even have any real walls. All I had were some curtains hung on rods-so much for privacy. A three-bedroom house and the only real bedroom was my parents'. The other two bedrooms were being used by my parents; one was my mother's sewing room and the other was my father's office. I stepped over the fifth step on the way down. The one that creaks loudly when stepped on. At the bottom of the stairs I turned left, toward my area. My area. What a joke. It's not even like my parents ever finished the basement, they just put me in a corner of it. The washer and dryer were on the backside of the basement, so I always knew when my mother was doing wash. And the other half of the basement was my father's workshop. I pulled the curtain aside and entered my "room". I turned the light on the desk and looked around, a twin bed, a bureau, a small desk and a bookcase. That was it. Oh yeah, and a mirror on the wall over the bureau. He wouldn't even put a raised platform on the floor so I wouldn't have to step on the cold concrete when getting out of bed in the morning with my bare feet. I bought one of those bath rugs so I wouldn't have to keep my shoes on in bed. I pulled the curtain back so my "door" was now closed. I threw my keys on my desk and proceeded to get undressed. Even though I had napped earlier I still felt somewhat tired, probably an after effect of my beating and hospital stay. After I pulled my shirt off I checked out my bruises in the mirror. They were a dull shade of yellow and some purple. At least they didn't hurt too much. I finished getting undressed and crawled into bed in just my boxers. And wouldn't you know it. I was tired driving home. I was tired coming into the house. I was tired coming downstairs and getting undressed. And now? Now I'm awake. Not the least bit tired. Of course. That's the way it always works. I grabbed an old copy of "Men's Fitness" off the floor next to the bed and I flipped through it until sleep finally claimed me. * * * The sound of the dryer buzzing woke me the next morning. I opened one eye and focused on my alarm clock. It was a little after seven. I didn't fall asleep until close to three am. And now it's just after seven, and mom's doing the laundry. Of course, she may not know that I'm here. I was just starting to fall back asleep when I heard footsteps on the stairs to the basement. And they didn't avoid the fifth step either. It had to be my mother. Dad wouldn't be doing laundry and besides, he would be at work by now anyway. So much for getting back to sleep. I could hear her fiddling around with the stuff in the dryer and the washer. I leaned over the bed and grabbed my jeans. I threw the covers back off the bed and pulled my jeans up. I grabbed my shirt and pulled it over my head and climbed out of the bed. As soon as I stepped off the rug I realized my mistake. I had forgotten to put on socks and damn was that floor cold! I silently cursed to myself as my mother doesn't like swear words and I moved out of my room. And nearly ran into my mother. "Tristan! You scared the good Lord right out of me! What are you doing here?" Always pleasant to see you too, Mom. "I finished with classes," I lied to her. "So I came back home. Dad leave already?" "Your father left yesterday morning for a business trip to Oklahoma. He'll be back sometime this weekend. It was rather last minute. Something about one of the major suppliers for his business." Well that was good. That'd give me a few days at least without the old man around. Mom didn't say anything else and headed upstairs. I couldn't tell if she was happy to see me or not. Probably not. Just like always. Oh well. Not much I could do about that I guess. Things were fairly quiet around the house for the rest of the week. I tried calling Aric a couple of times on his cell phone but either he was busy or I got his voicemail. I really wanted to see him, but I doubt I'd be able to tell him about what happened. I honestly don't know how he'd react. We'd never discussed the gay topic. Of course I kept that part of myself buried where he wouldn't find it. He knows me and knows me well. Like a brother, but he doesn't know that about me. And to be honest, I don't think I'd ever tell him. I'd always been able to go to him with my problems, except that one. He was the only one of my friends that knew about my parents, and how they treat me. There was many a night growing up that I'd end up at his house cause of my parents. Not because they fought or anything, no they were the perfect loving husband and wife. It's being a mother and a father that they sucked at. There was many a Christmas where I didn't get any presents at all. Oh they bought presents for themselves, but nothing for me. And birthdays weren't much better. If we even celebrated them. I usually ended up celebrating them at Aric's house. Just us. I never went to other friend's birthday parties as a kid cause I didn't have any money to buy them a present. My mother wouldn't give me the money, and after a few times asking my father, I learned not to do that any more either. Aric always offered to let me share his present with him, but I couldn't do that. It wasn't right. It was his present, not ours. He stopped going to their parties as well, because of me. He said it wasn't any fun with out his brother along. I don't know what he told them as to why he couldn't come but he told them something. Everything was going along fine until around nine Saturday evening. My father returned from his business trip and all hell broke loose. I should have known something was up when I heard him slam the back door. But he'd done that so many times while I was growing up that I tended to block it out. I was in my room, looking through my destroyed stuff from school trying to find something, anything that had escaped when I heard him scream, "Where the fuck is the little faggot?" Now he's called me lots of things before when he was angry, but that was the first time he'd called me a faggot. Oh fuck, did someone from school call him too? I didn't have much time to figure anything else out before I heard him tromping down the stairs to the basement. "Where are you, you little faggot?" He ripped the curtain to my room open. My mother was standing behind him, a look of surprise and wonder on her face. "Well, faggot? What have you got to say for yourself?" "What? What are you talking about?" "You know what I'm talking about! Was that your cocksucking friend who called us in the middle of the night?" I didn't say anything; I just stood there looking dumb. "Well? Answer me you god damned queer!" "I don't know what you're talking about!" I was starting to get angry. "Don't lie to me boy! You're a fucking faggot. I didn't raise no faggot for a son!" Ok, zero to pissed off in about three seconds. "YOU DIDN'T RAISE ME AT ALL! I RAISED MYSELF!" He punched me across the jaw, which caused me to stagger back. It had been a long time since he got physical with me. "DON'T YOU FUCKING TALK BACK TO ME YOU USELESS WHELP!" I steadied myself and turned back to face him. My mother stood a few feet behind him looking disgusted. I could feel my jaw started to swell. "Well?" I didn't say anything. "So it is fucking true. You fucking cocksucking faggot." "Yeah? So what if it's true? Why would you give a fuck? You've never given a shit about me. I'm living in a corner of the fucking basement! I don't even have a real room! Have we once celebrated my birthday? Did I ever receive any Christmas presents? I'm your son for Christ's sake!" He punched at me again, and I tried to get out of the way but I wasn't fast enough. He got me in the eye. "You're no son of mine! Get the fuck out of my house!" I just stood there, looking at him in disbelief. "Get the fuck out of my house! No faggot will be living under my roof!" He came at me again but I managed to get by him. I looked at my mother but she turned her head away from me. My father came after me again. "Get the fuck out!" I stayed ahead of him and took off up the stairs and ran to my truck. I got into my truck just as he appeared at the back door with his rifle. I started the truck as he cocked the rifle and aimed it toward me. I slammed the truck into reverse and hit the gas. The back wheels started to spin throwing up smoke. I finally popped the clutch and took off like a shot out of his rifle down the driveway. I didn't even bother to stop at the end of the driveway and flew out onto the street. Luckily for me there was no traffic on our street at that time of night. I threw the truck into first and sped off. I heard a gun shot behind me, but didn't hear any sound of him hitting the truck. "FUCK!" I screamed out loud. I slammed my fist against the steering wheel. I drove around for a bit, not really caring where I was going or what. I eventually ended up in the park in town. I was tired. I shut the engine off and sat there. What was I going to do now? I was now homeless. My fucking father threw me out of the house, just because nature made me gay. I didn't have any control over it. It's not something I chose. Why would I choose this? Why would I chose to be something that is so hated by people. My vision started to blur as I started to cry again. I'd done more crying in the last several days then I've done in years. It was obvious that life had it in for me. I didn't even bother trying to stop the tears. It wasn't worth the effort. They'd just come back again. I spent the next thirty or so minutes looking over everything that had happened to me since school started. First there was getting out of the house. That was the best thing to happen to me in a long time. Finally out with others who liked me, who appreciated me. Then I met Justyn. Yeah, Justyn. The first guy who ever captured my heart. Oh sure, there were guys growing up that I thought were cute, but living in this small town, there was no way I'd say anything to them. And I didn't want to be labeled the town queer like old man Wilson was, so I didn't do anything to act on those feelings. But Justyn was different. I knew that the first moment I met him. There was something about him. Something told me that he was like me. That he liked guys. But how to be sure? How to tell him? Could I risk his friendship and people finding out if I was wrong? Well, my body took care of that one night. And in a big way. I kissed him. That was the start of our relationship, and it was wonderful. We spent a good amount of time together. As much as we could, considering the workload from school and my football practice and games. And then it came crashing down. Somehow, someway, someone found out about me. It's not like I flaunted my homosexuality. Far from it. I got attacked and ended up in the hospital for a few days. Then after I got out of the hospital the whispering started. And the taunting. But that wasn't the worst of it. I came back from class to discover that my dorm room had been trashed. Not just trashed but thoroughly destroyed. Every piece of clothing I brought with me from home ripped to shreds. Every cd I had in the room broken. My text books ripped apart. So I pretty much fled school. I had to get out of there. It was obvious that my secret was out. How I didn't know, but someone saw something, or overheard something. I came home. As much as I was not liked at home, as much as I was seen as an inconvenience, at least I thought I'd be safe. I got home from school and I was. My father was gone on a business trip. My mother didn't say much to me, she never did. Even with my father not around she didn't say much. My father ran the house, and that even carried to when he wasn't there. Then Saturday night came and my father came home. He came in the house yelling, calling me a faggot. How the hell did he know? Then he tried to come after me. I fled my house. One of the few places I felt safe, even if I wasn't loved. My father kicked me out of the house for being gay. How the hell did he know that anyway? I'd not told him. And I hope that no one from school called him. Besides, he was gone for a business meeting. They wouldn't know how to find him. Nothing we filled out had his cell phone information. Hell, even mom didn't know his cell phone number. A shiver ran through my body as I suddenly realized that the truck was cold. It was cold in there, and snow had started falling outside. What was I going to do? Where was I going to go? Aric. Of course, Aric. I always went to Aric's when the situation got tough at home. I reached for my pocket to get my cell phone to try calling him but it's not there. Oh fuck, that's right, it got destroyed when I was attacked. Crap. Oh well, I'd just drive over there and throw snowballs at his window or something. I turned the key in the ignition and nothing. The engine tried to turn over but failed. Ok, it's temperamental. Hell, who isn't. I gave it a few seconds and tried it again. Fuck, still nothing. Well, it's only a few blocks. And of course, the snow was falling harder by this point. I got out of the truck and locked the door and headed away from it toward Aric's house. I tromped through the snow for several blocks and I was frozen. I took off from the house all too quickly and I forgot my jacket. And proper shoes. I only had my sneakers on. Of course when your father is chasing after you, going to do you harm, you don't stop to make sure you've got everything you need. So needless to say, by the time I got to Aric's house I was doing a fair impression of a Popsicle. It didn't help the fact that I slipped and fell a couple of times as well. His house is a modified ranch type house. It's got the main body of a ranch but instead of having a garage underneath the living level, they have a two car attached garage with a bedroom suite over it. That's where his parents slept. Aric slept in the bedroom on the opposite side of the house. It gave him some privacy and it gave his parents some peace and quiet. I took my now almost frozen hands out of my equally soaked jean pockets and grabbed some snow and threw the snowball at the window. It made some noise but not a lot. I didn't want to make them too strong or throw them too hard; otherwise I'd end up breaking his window. Plus in my near Popsicle state, I'm pretty sure I couldn't throw them that hard anyway. I threw a few more before the shade moved from in front of the window and Aric's face appeared. He had a look of surprise on his face. He pointed toward the back of the house, where the deck was off the living room. I trudged through the snow to the deck while he got there from the inside. "My God, Tristan," he said as I came inside the house. "What the hell happened to you? How long were you standing out there for?" "Only a couple of minutes," I replied. We walked back to his room. "It's the walk over from the park that got me this wet. That and falling into the snow a few times." "Why did you walk over from the park? Why didn't you drive?" "My truck wouldn't start. And it was getting cold in it." "What were you doing over at the park?" "My parents, started in again," I somewhat lied. "I had to get out of there. I drove around for a while, ended up stopping there for a bit. When I tried to start the truck to come over here, it wouldn't start." "You should probably get out of those wet clothes. I have some sweats you can borrow." After some effort, I was able to untie my sneakers and get them off. I got my now soaked jeans off and my sweatshirt too. He went to his closet to pull out a set for me. "You should probably take your underwear off too. It's pretty soaked. Give'em to me and I'll go hang them up in the bathroom." He turned around after grabbing the sweats. "Fuck! What the hell happened to you?" I looked down at my chest and legs. "Don't worry, it looks worse than it feels. I got mugged last weekend." "Mugged? Why didn't you tell me?" "With everything that happened and my coming home, I guess it just slipped my mind." "Well, I'm glad you're ok. Come one, give me the undies." Yeah, I know what you're probably thinking, but no, it's not like that at all. Aric and I played football together in school so we'd been naked together in the locker room dozens of times. Besides, he was like a brother to me. I grabbed my undies and pulled them down. I handed them to Aric and he took those and my other wet clothes and headed toward his bathroom. I took the sweats from the bed and put the sweatshirt on. Oh, dry clothes, oh warmth. I pulled up the sweats and noticed that Mr. Happy was rather small, and I think my balls retreated to Hawaii or something cause they were nowhere to be found. Aric returned as I finished pulling up the sweatpants he gave me. "Bro, those clothes were soaked!" Even with the dry sweats I still felt cold. "No shit Sherlock. It's nasty out there." Aric looked out his window. "Well, we'll not be going to get your truck tonight. We'll get it tomorrow." I nodded. "So when did you get back into town?" "A few days ago." "Why didn't you call me?" "I did call you. I either got no answer or your voice mail. Is your phone even on?" Aric grabbed the phone off of his desk. He looked at it. "Yeah, it's on. But it's not telling me I have voice mail. Crap. Ever since they upgraded the voice mail I've not been notified of new ones. So what happened with your folks?" "Oh you know, the usual," I lied. "No matter what I do the old man isn't happy." "Even after you got into college huh? Paying your own way and all that?" "Yeah, even after that. Even after I made the football team." "Asshole." "Yeah, I agree. So wait, what are you doing home on a Saturday night? Why aren't you out with Denise?" "Oh we broke up last week. So I'm flying solo again. I'd actually just started watching a movie when you banged on my window. You wanna watch it?" "Which movie?" "One of the classics of course, ‘Stand By Me'." "Yeah, that would be cool. I love that movie." "Me too. Remember the summer after we first watched it?" I thought back trying to think of what he was talking about. "Oh yeah! We wanted to go find a missing kid." As morbid as it might sound, yeah, we wanted to find a body. Of course, we didn't, but we had fun trying. Aric curled up on his bed to watch the movie and I settled down in his father's old easy chair that's in the room. The next thing I know Aric's shaking me awake. "Dude, it's time to get up." He backed off as I stretched. "What time is it?" "It's almost one." One? In the afternoon? "Why did you let me sleep so late?" I got up out of the chair, stiff and achy. Probably wasn't a good idea to sleep in that position. "Cause you were exhausted. We'd barely started watching the movie when you zonked out. Get dressed and let's go get your truck." He handed me my clothes from last night. "I'll see you downstairs." "Is it still snowing?" "Nah, it stopped sometime this morning. The roads don't look too bad from what I can see. Hurry up." "Keep your shirt on, I'm coming." Aric left the room as I pulled the sweatshirt off over my head. After I got dressed and visited the bathroom I joined Aric in the living room and then we got into his truck and head over to the park. Unlike the hour or so it took me to get over to his place from the park, it only took us ten minutes by truck, and that's even with the somewhat messy roads due to the snow storm. We pulled up next to my truck on the driver's side. It was covered in snow and only small parts of the metal were visible. It's a good thing it wasn't a white truck or we probably wouldn't have seen it. Aric shut his truck off and we both got out. "I'll clean off the hood while you try to start it. It might need a jump, but let's see if she'll turn over." "Sounds good." I unlocked the driver's door and climbed in after brushing some of the snow off. I stepped on the clutch and put the key in the ignition. I turned the key and the engine made even less noise than it did last night. It clicked a couple of times. I tried it again, same thing. I pulled the lever for the hood, figuring we'd have to jump it. I left the keys in the ignition and climbed out. Aric had started brushing off the snow from the windshield on the passengers side. I went after the snow on the driver's side. "Hmm, that doesn't sound good. It could be a dead battery. Did you have any troubles starting it last night?" He asked as he continued around the passenger's side of the truck brushing the snow off. His head disappeared below the top of the hood. I thought back to last night, my flight from my father. "No, it started right up. The battery isn't that old. I replaced it last year or the year before. It's never given me trouble. If it had, I wouldn't be here right now. He was aiming his rifle at me." I reached under the hood and found the latch for the hood. I'd just started to lift up the hood. "Is it true?" Aric had suddenly appeared at my side and asked me. I jumped back a couple of feet, and dropped the hood. It slammed back down. "Jesus, Aric, you nearly scared the shit out of me! What's the idea sneaking up on me like that?" "Is it true?" "Yeah, it's true. That battery didn't give me any trouble before last night." Aric looked at me funny. His eyes weren't the usual happy eyes that he had. He almost looked a combination of sick, angry, and upset. "Not that. I'd always dismissed the rumors before, figuring that they were just jealous of you. But now I'm not sure." "What? What rumors. What the fuck are you talking about?" Aric didn't answer me but walked back around the passenger side the truck. He pointed at it. "This." I still had no clue what he was talking about as I walked around to join him. It was then that I saw it. The word FAGGOT spray painted on the side of my truck. No wonder my father knew. He must have seen it when he got home last night. Fuck! When did this shit appear? "Well?" He asked me. "Well what? I didn't put that there!" "Is it true?" I just stood there, looking at Aric. This was not happening. This could not be happening. "I started hearing the rumors about you after sophomore year. I always disputed them, told people it wasn't true. They couldn't be true, I'd tell myself. My best friend wasn't a fag. I'd know. I can spot a fag a mile away. So tell me I'm right T, tell me I'm right." I don't answer Aric, I just had this look of horror on my face. This could not be my best friend. It just couldn't. I continued to stare at him. "So it is true," he said finally. "My best friend is a fucking fag." I'd finally had enough. Between the guys at school, losing Justyn, my father and now this, I'd finally had it. "So what? So what if it is true? It isn't you, it doesn't affect you." "What do you mean it doesn't affect me? Everyone's gonna think I'm a fag too!" "Why?" "Cause you are!" I moved toward him. "Aric..." He backed off. "Don't." "Don't what?" "Don't come near me." I continued toward him. "Aric, it's me. We've known each other since we were like five years old." He lashed out at me and punched me in the stomach. The blow caught me by surprise and I collapsed to the ground. He'd never hit me before. We'd never really fought before. I looked up at him, tears in my eyes. He wouldn't look at me. "I gotta go. I can't deal with this right now." With that, he took off to his truck. As his truck faded in the distance I attempted to get up. I must have gotten up too fast cause all of a sudden I was doubled over spitting up blood. I heaved up some blood onto the snow and tried standing up again after it passed. This time I went a little slower and was able to stand without the pain or the blood. Using the truck as a crutch I walked around to the driver's side and got back into the truck. My head ached and my stomach ached. No thanks to my best friend. The guy who I had thought was a brother. I tried the truck again and still nothing. I slammed my hand against the steering wheel. What the fuck was I going to do now? There wasn't anywhere else in this town I could go, no one else to turn to. Then it hit me. The one place I could go, the one place I'd be safe. But it wasn't close. It was a long walk. And it was cold. But at least it wasn't snowing. I got out of the truck and locked it behind me. I took one last look at the direction that Aric's house was and headed off to where I hoped to find safety and peace. As the afternoon wore on, the temperature dropped. As the sun went down, it got colder still. And then the snow started again. I was about half way to my destination when it started. There was no going back now. Even if I did go back, there was nothing to go back to. I looked at my watch. I'd been walking for some five hours now. I was frozen, more frozen then last night. It took all my energy to put one foot in front of the other. Finally after some six and half hours of walking through the freezing winter air, the last two hours with steady snowfall, I reached where I wanted to be. I just hoped someone was home. I staggered the last few feet, my legs not even bothering to lift. Shuffling through the snow. I found the door I was looking for and knocked on it. Nothing. I tried it again. Still nothing. I was just about to try it for a third time when the door opened. It was at that moment that my legs finally had enough holding up my body. I heard someone scream my name as I fell into the blackness. |