They drove out away from the Interstate and turned north on Mill Pond Road until they got to Highway 34 where they turned east. Here the farm land had held mixed use for hundred's of years. Open fields of cotton here and there, a few run down dairy farms enclosed with rotting fence posts and rusty barbed wire to hold the cattle in the pastures. The economy of poor rural America in a single glance.

Charlie's family had been lucky to plant orchards. The hybrid varieties of peaches his father had chosen proved themselves year after year. But there had been blights where they had been forced to cut and burn. The trees took a long time to mature and at a glance Charlie could tell the age of any of his subjects.

Down 34 a ways, Charlie pointed out where his property began. The open fields were his reserve space. Here there was room to expand if ever time allowed. Rounding a curve they saw the first of the peach trees.

"This is all part of your farm?" Brad asked.

"A small corner. The main orchard begins up at the next turn."

They turned on Stony Creek between sections of wire and post fencing used to keep stray animals away from the trees. Their route followed the lane down through row after row of trees. The branches were bare of fruit this time of year but each tree held a glorious crown of green leaves.

"You should have seen the crop this year," Charlie said. "All these trees were weighed down with hundreds of peaches. Their branches got so heavy they dragged on the ground."

"And you picked all of them?"

"No, not me, there's too many. I have some Mexican workers come in and they do a great job. Sold almost every dang peach they picked."

Up the lane through the trees Brad got his first glimpse of the farmhouse. A two-story white house with German wood siding and a covered porch on three sides. Charlie's family had built a home typical of farmhouses all across the South. And in need of a little paint too, Charlie suddenly thought.

Approaching the house, they were quickly surrounded by the few trees that still held fruit. "Oh, look at all those peaches," Brad said in amazement.

"Late blooming variety, I save these to pick myself. Some I sell at the stand and the others I just give away. Got a few ladies that put some up for me too. Ever eat canned peaches?"

"Oh that sounds good, I like peaches," Brad said.

"Me too," Charlie said." Wouldn't be in this business if I didn't."

They parked the truck at the side of the house beside an open shed where they could put the remaining bushels in out of the sun. Charlie could see the boy was tired but Brad toted his fair share of the baskets.

"So how about you get a bath and then we'll settle down for a rest before dinner. You probably got some clothes need washing too."

"Yeah, I guess I'm starting to smell bad," Brad said, sniffing at his shirt.

"Don't worry about that here, all I smell are the peaches," Charlie laughed.

He took Brad inside and got him a towel and a bar of soap. "Come on, I'll show you where we shower." Brad followed him through the kitchen and out onto the back porch. Charlie pointed at the nozzle on the wall and the gravel pit where he should stand.

"I put this in some years back for the workers to use. There's only a bathtub in the house and you can use that if you want. But I got a yearning to shower myself every now and then. Don't worry about anyone seeing you out here, isn't anyone around for about a mile. I'll be on the front porch when you're done."

Brad sat down on the back steps and began to remove his shoes. His socks were filthy.

"Oh yeah, got anything clean to put on?" Charlie asked.

Brad shook his head. "All my stuff is dirty I'm afraid."

"Got you covered," Charlie said and went into the house. He returned with some boxers and an old pair of coveralls. "Make you look like a farmer until we get your stuff washed, ok?"

Brad smiled and took the clothes as Charlie went back inside. A few minutes passed and Charlie heard the water come on. He hoped the kid would shower long and hard, it would help him relax.

Walking into the pantry beside the kitchen, Charlie began looking at the canned goods stacked on a shelf. Have to figure out what to make for dinner, he thought. The sound of the water coursing through the pipes distracted him.

All those young Mexican workers had showered out there, especially after he put up the curtain so they could have a bit of privacy. Charlie had taken the curtain down right after they left because it spoiled the natural feel of being naked outdoors. Not that he was an exhibitionist but he liked to share the space with the sky and trees.

This year there had been that one boy, Miguel. The seventeen-year-old had taken lots of showers too, Charlie noticed. Probably because it was the only place he was sure to be alone, and teen-aged boys needed time to themselves.

A handsome boy, Miguel,and one who doted on his good looks. But being poor produced the same results in any culture. Miguel was destined to marry young, have too many kids and be poor the rest of his life. Without an education he would never rise above his status as a migrant worker. At least he had his family and next year he would be eighteen.

Brad was a different case, wasn't he? The kid was too young to be running off like this. The boy needed to be in school, Charlie thought. At least the boy wasn't riding in the back of Lyle's car right about now. He wondered if Brad would figure things out for himself.

The reason he and Lyle despised each other was that they were too much alike. Only Lyle had been caught playing at it while he did his hitch in the Army. Charlie remembered when Lyle came home from Germany telling everyone he'd just up an quit. An unlikely story but folks just went on and believed it anyway. But as chance would have it Charlie accidentally met someone who knew the truth.

He was in Atlanta some years later talking with the grocery people about getting a contract for his peaches. One of the buyers recognized the name Stony Creek and asked him if he knew a Lyle Dennison. Charlie denied knowing Lyle but said the name sounded familiar. The guy went on to explain that he'd been stationed in Germany when Lyle had been busted with the young son of a German businessman. The MP's arrested him and Lyle was dishonorably discharged.

The only reason Lyle didn't pull some time in Leavenworth was that the boy refused to testify and the father wanted the whole thing forgotten. Lyle had returned to Stony Creek and his family said nothing more about the incident. Shortly after he returned the job as a deputy came up, probably due to the fact his uncle was a county judge.

From what he could gather no one in the community knew about Lyle's shameful behavior, no one except Charlie. Lyle married a few years later and seemed to settle into the job. But a zebra can't change his stripes, Charlie knew, it was only a matter of time before Lyle would revert to his old self.

Charlie thought about Brad turning under the spray. If the boy had been older maybe...? Why do you torture yourself like this, Charlie? The answer always hurt, he was lonely. It had a lot to do with his feeling of self worth, or lack of it. He was really afraid of sharing his life, his feelings. How could he sleep with someone without explaining the nightmares? It was hard enough to be a homo in this sleepy little town but then the dreams tore him apart.

Charlie realized he liked boys when he was very young, a lot younger than Brad. But being that young meant he couldn't do much about his feelings. The only place he met other boys was in school and that was the last place he needed to be discovered. Charlie was twelve when he had his first experience with a migrant farm worker who was old enough to be his father.

The man had invited Charlie into his van one evening after supper. The workers had all been paid off and were leaving in the morning. The man had whiskey on his breath and somehow Charlie found that seductive. The man had pulled the boy close as if he knew Charlie couldn't resist. Was it that easy for him to read a boy's desires?

The event left Charlie empty and full of unanswered questions. He had thought sex would be something different, something romantic. The dime novels he found hiding in the attic had painted a picture of joyful caresses, soulful kisses and tender feelings. Even if these books were about men and women, didn't he deserve the same kind of experience?

Charlie eventually had a quick fling with the minister's son, Gabriel, when he was thirteen. That kid must have read the same novels because Charlie finally felt like he had discovered something worthwhile. He didn't know that the older boy had other ideas. In the midst of the attempted rape Charlie had fought back and won. Then to the amazement of them both, Gabriel confessed his sin to his father and was promptly packed off to military school.

Twice disappointed, Charlie withdrew into himself until he met Lyle in ninth grade. One look and he knew there was something familiar when their eyes met, they shared the moment and then out of nowhere Lyle came on strong. Too strong perhaps and Charlie suddenly found himself afraid of revealing his feelings. Was there something that he had said or done? He knew what Lyle wanted and it scared him. But there was this need and Charlie gave into it. His experiences with Lyle were never romantic; they only fulfilled his physical needs.

For almost two years Charlie and Lyle did things and no one ever suspected. They each dated girls for appearances sake but were never sexual with them. After the dates were over they would meet in secret and consummate the physical need they both felt. But Lyle couldn't accept the relationship as equal partners, he always tried to dominate Charlie and that is where he made his big mistake.

And then in eleventh grade a rumor that Lyle was a fag circulated like wildfire throughout the school. Lyle blamed Charlie who tried to avoid the inevitable confrontation. But in a foolish move Lyle lashed out at Charlie in front of others. It left Charlie with only one option and he took it. Like he had with Gabriel, Charlie fought hard and won.

Lyle's broken body finally mended but his hatred would never abate. To his credit, Charlie tried to dispel the rumor and mend the hurt feelings but Lyle was beyond all that now. It all blew up again their senior year because Lyle just couldn't let it go. Half the school witnessed Lyle's attack on Charlie after school that day. Armed with a knife he threatened to kill Charlie. Strong as an ox from working in his father's orchards all summer, Charlie quickly disarmed Lyle and then held him until the police arrived.

The court gave Lyle a choice, enlist or serve time. Lyle could only thank his uncle the judge for that kind offer and slunk away into the Army almost immediately. Things at Stony Creek High settled back to normal, except that Charlie once again withdrew into himself and stopped dating.

Of course there were other guys at school he admired, but they never seemed to notice him. He would have settled for a close friendship and put aside all his sexual feelings just to be with one of those guys. But the school was divided into groupings and he didn't seem to fit into any one of them. Even then his work at home left him no time to play sports or join a club. It felt unfair and for the next six months Charlie was a lost soul.

After graduation Charlie joined the Marines. He was following in his brother's footsteps and that felt like the right thing to do. For a while Charlie thought the best part of it was getting away from Stony Creek. Boot camp was harsh and Charlie found he had little love for military life. But he was trapped for four years and figured he had better make the most of it. Somehow that change of attitude transmitted itself to his superiors and Charlie found himself on the ride of a lifetime.

He enjoyed getting posted overseas to the Philippines because he wanted to see the world. It was made much better when Charlie discovered the bars and the young men that frequented them. Always careful, Charlie explored the shadow world that existed in the back alleys frequented by so many of his kind.

Charlie was sent to Korea, Thailand and the Middle East before his father got sick and couldn't work anymore. Charlie had to come home and take over the family business. If it weren't for those occasional trips to Atlanta and the places he had discovered there Charlie figured he would have been a basket case by now.

None of this would make sense to Brad, he was sure. The boy's story of abuse just didn't ring true, something was left unsaid. But there was no time for further musing on that subject because he heard the water turn off. He imagined the boy drying himself off in the quiet afternoon sunshine and told himself that was enough of that.

Brad came stomping into the kitchen just as Charlie exited the pantry with a few cans of beans. "There you are," Charlie said," feel better?"

"Much better, thank you," Brad said.

The boy looked humorous in the baggy coveralls, no shirt and bare feet, a real Georgia farm boy.

"Why don't you get yourself a beer and go sit on the front porch. It's much cooler out there this time of day."

"Beer? I don't really drink beer, Charlie."

"Well then fetch me one and get yourself some tea if you want. We'll both sit on the porch for a while until suppertime."

Charlie walked through the house and onto the porch where he sat in his father's old rocking chair. Having the boy here would be nice if the kid decided to stay on a while. Brad came through the screen door with two beers in hand.

"I didn't see anything but beer in the refrigerator," he said.

"Oh, sorry, I meant to get some soda for you," Charlie said. "I'll make tea later."

Brad sat on the old couch Charlie had put out for the Mexican workers. They both stared out at the orchard and the cloudless blue sky.

"I was wondering if you might like to stay on for a while," Charlie said. "I could use the help bringing in the rest of the peaches. The county fair is coming up in a couple of weeks and there will be a bunch of ladies out there looking to get the best of my crop for their pie baking. Lord, Brad, you should taste what they can do with those peaches."

"I don't know, Charlie. I was kind of thinking that I best get to Florida fairly soon."

"And why's that? You said you don't know anyone there, what are you going to do down there anyway? I can't see you living under a bridge and I don't think anyone will hire you. I hear the Cubans have all the jobs a boy like you might get. And how old are you anyway?"

"I'm seventeen," Brad said.

"And I'm a hundred and four," Charlie laughed.

Brad took a nervous sip of his beer and smiled. "You don't believe me?"

"Nope. My guess is you're about sixteen and damn lucky to have made it this far without getting in trouble."

Brad shook his head and took another pull on the beer. "This stuff isn't bad and you're right, I'm sixteen, sixteen and a half."

"When I was sixteen I was out in those trees working so hard the sweat was just dripping off my balls and soaking my pants. You don't look like you've worked a day in your life, Brad. How will you make it in Florida?"

"I'll manage," Brad said, the beer halfway gone now. The boy yawned and covered his mouth as if to hide it.

"I know you have to be tired. Lay back a spell and take a nap. You're safe as can be out here. I chased away the last of the bears a week ago."

"There are no bears in Georgia, are there?" Brad laughed, "You trying to scare me?"

"But there was a report of someone seeing a rabid raccoon last week, so keep an eye out." They both laughed and Brad lay back on the couch.

He wanted the boy to stay. "Well you think about staying on a while. I don't think Florida is going anywhere soon unless the hurricanes take it away."

"What hurricanes, Charlie?"

"It's the season for bad storms where you're headed. That's why I figure you might stay on here a while since you don't have any definite plans in Florida. A young man without money and family could get in trouble with the law and get locked up. I suppose you could end up being sent back home. They would try and get in touch with your parents, I'm sure."

Charlie looked over at the boy and realized he was talking to himself, Brad was fast asleep. The beer bottle was precariously perched on the edge of the couch. Charlie picked up the bottle and quietly went into the house.

Ok, he was sixteen and a runaway, so what were those abrasions on his wrist? There was more to this story and he wanted some answers. Why was he so anxious to get to Florida? He must know someone there but whom? The backpack, Charlie thought. Brad had dumped it on the kitchen floor.

Charlie set the pack on the kitchen table and slowly undid the straps. He tossed a few items of dirty clothing on the floor by the washing machine. One of Brad's t-shirts was torn and there were blood stains on the sleeve, uh oh. He found a wallet in one of the side pouches. The boy had exactly seventeen dollars in bills and some change.

The picture of an attractive blonde woman caught his eye. She must be his mother and the girl standing beside her a little sister. No pictures of any men, so what did happen to the father? There was a business card tucked in behind the money.

Alan Taylor, sales representative, it said. Charlie wasn't familiar with the company name but the address in Miami caught his eye. Miami, was that Brad's destination? He quickly put everything back and re-buckled the straps. What about that blood?

Charlie tossed the boy's clothes in the washer. Two pairs of pants, five socks, three t-shirts, including the damaged one and a pair of boxers. That was it? The kid must have left in a hurry. No toothbrush, no toiletries of any kind. A real hurry.

Charlie put baked beans and franks in a casserole with some molasses and set the oven for a slow bake. He got out some flour, eggs, yeast and baking soda. He always made biscuits the old fashioned way, the way his momma did. He kneaded the dough and set it aside in a covered bowl to rise.

He had to confront Brad about the bloody shirt. If the law was after the boy then he needed to know. Not that he would send the boy away, but he couldn't give the law the upper hand if there was a confrontation. Knowledge was power. Just one of the things he'd learned in the service. He sat down in the living room with a beer and turned on the evening news.

The sun was far in the West when Brad finally awoke. The mosquitoes finally got to him and Charlie could hear the boy cuss as he slapped at the bites. The screen door opened and Brad walked in.

"Damn, I must have looked like dinner to those mosquitoes," he said.

"They get bad this time of year, I usually stay in," Charlie offered. "Hungry?"

"I wasn't before I fell asleep. Why did you let me crap out like that?"

"Figured you needed the rest. Long way from New Hampshire."

"Thank you," Brad said. "What's that I smell?"

"Biscuits in the oven, ought to be about done by now," Charlie said as he headed towards the kitchen. The table was laid for two and Charlie brought the casserole over to the table. The biscuits followed on a covered plate with a crock of butter on the side.

"Smells great," Brad said as Charlie ladled each of them a portion.

"Old family recipe. Lots of molasses and a dash of hot sauce. There's peach jam for your biscuits too."

The silence in the room after that attested to the hunger they both had for good food. Charlie waited until the boy had finished his beans and was spreading jam on a hot biscuit.

"I got into your pack and washed your clothes, hope you don't mind?"

"You didn't need to do that, I could have washed them," Brad said.

"Noticed one of your shirts was torn and bloody. Cut yourself shaving?"

Brad looked down in his lap. Charlie was sure he didn't want to talk about it.

"What happened, Brad?"

"I got attacked on the road." Brad sighed. "This trucker picked me up in New Jersey. About an hour after I got in the cab he pulled over in a rest stop and just jumped on me. I fought with him but he was real big, I just couldn't defend myself. Next thing I knew he had me tied up in the bed behind the seats."

Brad sighed again. "He tried to rape me, Charlie. He held me down and tried to, you know. He had my pants down and I just kicked him. It was a lucky shot and I nailed him right in the balls. He was out cold and lying on top of me. Somehow I managed to get out of the ropes and jump out of his truck before he woke up. I ran and ran but I never saw him again."

"How awful, "Charlie said. "I told you it was dangerous out there on the road."

"I won't ride with truckers any more, that's for sure."

"But they travel the longest distances. You could get to Miami faster that way," Charlie said.

"Miami...how did you know where I was going?"

"I saw the guy's business card in your wallet. Who is he, Brad?"

"You went in my wallet? That's my personal..."

"Shut up, Brad. I did it, it's done. Who is this Taylor guy?"

Brad glared at him across the table. So the kid is mad, who cares? Maybe he'll be more honest. Charlie didn't believe a word about the attempted rape.

"Brad, listen to me. You're almost seventeen and probably think you'll live forever, but it isn't true. I think you've gotten yourself into some serious problems already and going to Miami is your way of trying to change things that have happened. We all make mistakes, Brad. If you tell me what's going on maybe I can help you out of this situation."

Brad's glare softened and then tears formed in his eyes. "You can't help me, Charlie. I fucked up and now I have to do something about it."

"You don't know what I can do," Charlie said.

Brad suddenly laughed but there was no humor in the sound. "Taylor would kill us both."

"I doubt it but let's hear what you have to say and I'll decide if he's good enough to take me out."

"He's dangerous, Charlie. I saw him kill someone."

"And that's why you're running to Miami?"

"No." The room became silent. "I'm going to Miami to get Danny."



On to Chapter Three

Back to Chapter One

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What a Peach is © 2005 - 2006 by Chris James.
    This work may not be duplicated in any form (physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise) without the author's written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply. All individuals depicted are fictional with any resemblance to real persons being purely coincidental.


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