While enduring my ordeal of the words, there was a kid in the next row, one seat in front of mine, who never laughed once. In fact he watched me as I read, winced when the rest of the class laughed, and seemed to be living my pain. He continued to watch me, even after I sat down.

Tommy took to making faces at me or he'd do something totally silly, trying to get me to laugh. At first I refused to pay any attention to him, even after it became apparent he wanted to cheer me up. What did another annoying kid mean to me? Not a thing and I continued acting as though I never saw his contortions.

I didn't want to smile. I didn't want to let go of my anger and hatred, but there was this thing he took to doing, turning his head upside down and sticking his chin into his armpit. He'd then make a face, and it never failed to get a giggle out of me. What did he want?

My first slight little giggle had him delighted with himself. I suppose it took him a week, once he'd started his antics to find success. I was alone in a world that offered me nothing. I never smiled. I certainly wasn't a giggler, but I was human.

It's all he wanted. He'd go into his post reading routine each morning. Once I broken a smile, he was satisfied. He turned back to the teacher and forgot about me. I must admit he had me curious.

I began making myself available before class. When I'd once spent my time posing near the front entrance with the rest of the hoods, I began going to my locker and standing in front of Mr. Warnock's room, where Tommy waited for first period. At first we nodded at one another, not having a lot to say. He was shy and I was aloof. Not much to build a friendship on, but there were his to ease my daily ordeal.

We began talking about this and that.

"Nice day?"

"Yeah."

"They say it might rain?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't think it will."

"No."

This led to the decision we'd meet officially before 1st period CORE to talk about the weather. Each morning when I off the bus, I made my way to the hallway where Tommy was always waiting for me. He lived just blocks from the street that dead-ended at the woods that were beside the school.

We talked about school but never about reading. He talked about his family. He told me about having four brothers and a sister, which were more people than I could conceive of living under one roof together. I never mentioned my family. They hate me. I'm stupid and lazy, which was the best of it. No, I wouldn't mention my family, but I was keenly interested in his.

Tommy was not only friendly but he was energetic and naturally excited by the things in his life he loved. His befriending me was curious. No one had ever wanted to be my friend before. He wanted to be my friend during one of the most humiliating points in my life, and believe me, I knew humiliation.

George had tried to be my friend the last time I moved back to go to Hillcrest Heights Elementary. He was a very nice boy. He was interested in my cousin, Janet, which made his interest in me suspect. Besides, he lived a block away from where I lived. I'd never invite anyone into my house and the risk of having a friend so close didn't interest me, but George was often at my elbow as quick as I got outdoors.

He loved to roam and didn't know the area as well as I, because roaming was my best thing. He was always amazed by where I knew to go to find the best stuff, tiny little frogs hatching from the tadpoles still doting the pond, blue berries, blackberries, and other delicacies there for the taking, and especially jobsites. Houses were popping up all around our area. I knew the best ones, when there were antiques left behind by the workers, slugs and six inch spikes.

George had been okay, but too close for comfort. Tommy was a comfortable 3 miles from where I lived. Tommy was like no other kid I'd ever met. I began going home with him after school by November. I didn't need to be home until six for dinner and I always walked home in nice weather, because I hated the bus and the noisy kids on it. I had to take it to get to school by 7:30 for the 7:45 bells, but after 2:45 we could romp, roam, play ball, and just be friends.

He never minded me being at his house, although his next to youngest brother often pointed out, you aren't my brother. Actually I'd known that and while it offended me, I still went to Tommy's house every day after school, except in really bad weather. We were best friends by virtue of spending all our spare time together.

That's what Tommy was, my friend. Without even trying I'd made a full-time friend. It was glorious. I'd never belonged anywhere before, but I belonged with Tommy. Even more amazing, he wanted to be around me. I'd always gone to school close to where I lived and making friends meant explaining too much.

Word traveled fast and the only thing I could imagine worse than having no friends was losing one. My parents were certain to betray me. It was their best thing. I never so much lived at home as I existed there.

Tommy confused everything. My ability to be alone and like it that was had given way to my constant need to be with him. I trusted Tommy when I trusted no one.

I didn't confess that I was homosexual. There were limits even with Tommy. I wasn't afraid of it and it had nothing to do with the love I felt for my friend, but it could ruin it and while I had vowed never to associate with anyone who couldn't accept me as is, I couldn't risk it. I was happy for the first time outside of Florida.

When Tommy and I met, he was a tiny towhead and totally non-threatening in any way. I was far more impressive physically than I was intellectually, far bigger them him. My reputation was no secret, but Tommy either never heard about me or chose to ignore anything he'd heard.

On a very nice day after school one day Tommy took me to the garage where his father worked in Corral Hills. He popped in through one of the back bays and found his father working over the rear of a car that was up on the lift.

"Hey, Pop. What's up?"

"Oh, I've got to get this rear together by closing time. Hey, I've got the tranny apart over in that sink. How about putting it together for me so I can get this car out of here before we close."

"Sure, Pop," Tommy said, and the little towhead friend of mine went about assembling a transmission.

"Come on," he said, as I stood totally amazed by his genius.

I knew a wrench from pliers, I think. That's where mechanics and I parted company. Tommy could do anything mechanical. His father was a mechanic and apparently he'd watched him and learned. He was adept at getting everything to fit together and there weren't any parts leftover. It was like a jigsaw puzzle with a thousand pieces to it. It was no big deal to Tommy.

I don't think I could have had more respect for anyone than I did for my friend. The biggest surprise was he liked his father and his father liked him. Not only did his father like him, he trusted him. I was in awe. His father always treated me like he didn't mind me being around, even when I showed up on the weekend. My life was centered on Tommy's house. For the first time in my life I voluntarily spent time with people. What a great life.

One Friday I got permission to stay over to go to the movie and my father was going to pick me up at ten o'clock. We were going to walk to the movies in Corral Hills. We had played ball up until it was time for Tommy to go in to get dinner, and I said I'd be back after he ate.

I was going to sit across the street to wait for Tommy to finish. Once we got to the movie, I'd get a large popcorn to fill my belly. It was a good plan until his mother got into the act.

"My mom said get your butt in here and eat," Tommy said, coming to the curb to invite me to dinner his way.

There I was sitting at Tommy's table with the brothers, sister, and his parents. They talked, laughed, and made jokes, and I did my best not to spill my milk or spit any food out when I laughed. I'd never felt more like I belonged, even though Gary was there to remind me, you aren't my brother.

Tommy and his brothers ate and they were ready to go. I thanked their mom for what was a wonderful meal in many ways. We all headed for the door.

"You know we don't have a lot of money," Tommy told me as we walked together. "My parents have never let any of our friends eat with us before. I think they really like you."

It was about the nicest thing he could have said to me. It was a good thing to, because I spent more time at Tommy's house than I spent at my own as years went on. They became the family I never had, except for Gary. I can't remember any better days than those.

At Tommy's house there was always something to do. With four brothers and a sister, that meant instant teams for anything we wanted to do. Whether just throwing the ball around or playing softball with a half dozen of the neighborhood kids, it was magic. I kept close watch on the time and each afternoon by 5:15 I had to be on my way home to be at the table at six. It was three miles and I could walk it in forty-five minutes and just beat my parents into the house.

One Friday evening as I headed home, while walking across the parking lot at the Census Bureau, I began to calculate how I could give back to Tommy and his family some of what they'd given to me. By December, I'd never been happier or more satisfied with myself, and the coming holidays weren't far away.

I was thinking of a particularly realistic science fiction movie I'd recently seen, and that's when the idea surfaced. I'd write a science fiction story and Tommy and I and his brothers and sister would be the characters. In this way I'd show them all how much they meant to me, especially Tommy.

The next half an hour of walking went quite rapidly as I formed the idea more completely. Shortly after gobbling down my dinner, I asked to be excused, and that was the evening 'Martian Disaster' was born.

I retired to my bedroom. I removed my composition book from the pile of books on my nightstand and opened my creative mind for something other than play. Whatever I tapped into took over. My hand moved across the page in a continuous sequencing of words as the pictures ran through my brain.

I wrote all through the night Friday, stopping only for breakfast in the morning. I immediately went back to my manuscript, until late in the afternoon at which time I fell asleep. I woke up in time for dinner and went back to writing. I fell asleep some time late that night.

I announced for the first time that I wasn't going to church and got no argument. I went back to my room and before noon 'Martian Disaster' was done. It filled my composition book. I set it aside with the books I'd take to school the following day.

I napped on and off Sunday, catching up on lost sleep. There was a feeling of accomplishment. I'd set out to do something I had no reason to think I could do and I did it. This was nice. I'd impress Tommy with the tale that told him how much I thought of him. It gave me a strange feeling with no idea anything could possibly go wrong with such a plan.

I didn't meet Tommy in the morning as usual and purposely stayed across the school until first period CORE was starting. I made sure he was in his seat before I entered the room.

"Good morning, Charles," Mr. Warnock said.

"Good morning, Mr. Warnock," I replied, passing his desk with the prize under my arm.

As I scooted up the row to get to my desk, plop, I dropped the composition book down in front of my best friend. I continued on and sat down, waiting for the payoff.

Tommy turned his head and looked at me curiously. I formed the words 'read it' just about the time Mr. Warnock called his first period CORE class to order.

Tommy opened the composition book and read the title, taking one glance back at me. He began reading with his face down in the story. He turned a page and was immediately hooked on my tribute to our friendship. He turned another page.

With every great idea there is the flaw that never comes to mind. I'd written the story, planned on how I'd present it to Tommy, and he'd become engrossed from the first line. It was perfect. It had everything. It all unfolded exactly as I'd seen it, except for one little detail I'd left out: Mr. Warnock.

It took only a few minutes for Mr. Warnock to be standing at the head of the row of desks where Tommy was being less than attentive, head down, lips moving, his finger feeling the page under the words he read.

"Tommy?" Mr. Warnock said softly with no result. "Tommy," he repeated a little louder as all eyes were now on him.

Being oblivious to the world around him, being lost in the world of my creation, my friend was in mortal danger and I could only whisper a warning.

"Tommy," I said, leaning forward and shaking his arm.

He shook his arm out of my reach and kept on reading.

By this time Mr. Warnock was carefully and quietly easing himself between the desks until he stood over Tommy and my composition book.

"What are you reading?" Mr. Warnock quizzed, seizing the composition book and beginning to move back to the front of the class, reading as he went. Oh no, he had my story.

Tommy protested any guilt, turning and pointing an accusing finger at me, "It's his," he declared as soon as Mr. Warnock turned around to face us, composition book down at this side.

Tommy didn't need to tell him. He knew my handwriting from the papers we turned in for him to grade. Being given up by my best friend was a blow. It was my own fault and all that work was lost in the hands of the teacher. That hurt as I watched him go back to the composition book while the class waited for him to continue with the period's lesson on the Supreme Court.

Adults being adults, I wasn't sure what would come next. Some punishment for disrupting class seemed appropriate. Certainly the loss of the manuscript was punishment enough. He couldn't possibly know how much work went into the story.

Holding his finger in the book at the place where he stopped, he looked down at my desk, glaring in my direction as I slipped slowly down in my seat.

"Charles?" he said. "Did you write this?"

I sunk further. Maybe the bell would ring, but that wasn't much help, we had three periods of CORE that morning.

"Charles, come up here."

It was hard to ignore that. Was I going to the office? I deserved punishment but what did he have in mind?

"Charles, come up here, right now. I want you to read this to the class."

"What?" I panicked.

How fitting, my private tribute to my best friend put out there for all to hear. It was only meant for Tommy.

I could feel all his 'atta boys' and compliments going by the wayside. I'd been making steady progress and Mr. Warnock seemed delighted with everything I did. Now, I was going down.

I stood as he stared at me. Every eye was on me as I took my time getting to the front of the class. Maybe he'd just send me to the office and not embarrass me any more by making me read it.

As I stood in front of him he handed me the book.

"Go ahead. It's quite good. I want you to read it."

Mr. Warnock ran a no-nonsense class. He was in charge and you dare not cross him. His punishment came fast and was harsh. I still wasn't sure about what he wanted. I'd read a little, the class would get a good laugh, and then he'd send me to the office. Looking at his face gave me nothing to go on.

I took the composition book, looking over my shoulder at him as he dragged his chair into the far corner next to the windows. He sat down watching me as I held my finger on the first page waiting.

"Go ahead. Read," he ordered.

"Martian Disaster," I said, looking at the class looking at me.

I'd never stood in front of a class before. The closest I came was standing up at my own desk to respond to some question asked.

"The landing went badly. The craft would never fly again. The seven-member crew had survived but they were stranded. Whatever Mars offered would have to sustain them if they were going to stay alive until a rescue mission came."

I looked up. First I looked at Tommy who was beaming from ear to ear. The class was silent, looking at me, and waiting. Mr. Warnock also looked and waited, and I took them on a journey to Mars.

I read for most of what was left of the period. Mr. Warnock stood to lead the applause. What had happened?

I wasn't really sure. I was certain I deserved punishment, but how could that be it? I not only felt good about writing the story but I felt very better after reading it. No one held his nose.

"That was very good, Charles. I want you to write more stories and when you do, I'll let you read them to the class."

"Yeah!" the class approved.

As I walked back to my desk to hear about the Supreme Court, I found Tommy beaming. He looked at me with a pride I'd never seen in his face before. A few months earlier I was the class idiot and now I was writing stories and reading them to the class. There was no way for me to comprehend it. I just did it, because I could.

My relationship with Mr. Warnock had changed. His cautious demeanor had him saying good morning to me each morning when I passed his desk. After the 'Martian Disaster' he was warm and friendly. He smiled at me no matter what I did. Even my class saw me differently. Each time I showed up with a story, they got out of a class period when I read it. I'm sure it had something to do with the class being friendly to me. It was sure better than being laughed at me. They weren't laughing any longer.

'Army Buddies,' and 'Moon Shine' came after the New Year started. They were spaced so I didn't take advantage of a good thing. I was always writing in a composition book after that. I kept one for that purpose. This may not have happened had Tommy not gotten caught and if Mr. Warnock hadn't put me on stage.

At the moment of truth, when he stood with my composition book at the front of the class, he was obviously thinking it over. He'd taught me to read, but this was totally unexpected. He couldn't discourage me and so he did something I never saw him do any other time, change the lesson on the spot.

I wasn't frightened by it. I didn't hesitate to read it once he told me I had to read it. I was likely the only one who could read it, because my hand writing wasn't all that legible, but once written, I knew what was there. My brain was pretty good at remembering.

There was no great charge that came from the response to the story. I did what I could do and found no particular joy in the idea others enjoyed what I wrote. There was one exception, Tommy. I set out to impress him by immortalizing him in my story. His reaction was priceless to me and our friendship grew because of it.

Mr. Warnock, being the teacher he was, didn't stop there. He processed everything and had plenty of experience to give him a perspective no one else could have had about me. After 'Martian Disaster' and before the Christmas holidays, he told us that he was going to select a student who would present a synopsis of current events on Friday each week.

Besides being ignorant of what a synopsis was as well as what present might mean, I was my usual dissociative self. Everyone in the classroom but me knew who Mr. Warnock was going to select. There was a certain advantage to having no goals and little understanding about how things work. Why would he pick me?

I'd never been the least bit competitive. I didn't compete with myself or push myself, because there'd never been anything to push. Tommy told me it would be me the first time it was mentioned. I laughed at the idea. I didn't know this was Mr. Warnock's next step for me. I'd learned to read. I'd become a writer. He was going to give me something to get my teeth into when it came to writing without knowing what I'd do with it.

Good teachers will use whatever tools they have at hand to get the most out of their students. A year and a half before a teacher had seen me perform the impossible. How could a kid who has never held a putter before, sink a dozen consecutive putts without a miss?

Then I showed up in his gym class, and he intended to find out what else he could teach me to do. Having never been challenged, I wasn't limited by past performances. I was a clean slate. I sought to please Mr. Q and I did everything he asked me to do with gusto.

I was born a perfect zero at twelve. My only purpose until then was to survive and stay out of the line of fire, especially in school. Meeting men who were smart enough to recognize untapped potential meant they were looking for ways to challenge me with things I'd never tried.

No one told me sinking twelve consecutive putts was impossible. No one told me a mostly illiterate kid in September could learn to read and then become a writer by November. Perhaps there was some benefit in never having tried. For the great teacher it allows them to fill an empty vessel. All I am and ever have been was orchestrated by two very talented men.

After we returned to CORE in January I was selected to present 'current events' each Friday from that week forward. A booth with a microphone had been constructed right behind my desk in the far corner of the room. Speakers were set up in each corner of the room so I could be heard from my corner perch.

First I needed to figure out what current events were. I asked Mr. Warnock for tips and he suggested I go through the papers and watch all the news broadcasts. I went through all the DC papers and wrote my own script. I showed up on Fridays to present it to the class. I had the floor for as long as it took. I was in control of the class for most of an hour each Friday morning.

I can't say I didn't enjoy it; I did. I'd never read a newspaper before and now I knew everything that was going on locally, nationally, as well as internationally. The amount of respect that came from my classmates was worth all the hours I poured into my anchor position. Mr. Warnock sat silently by, thanking me each week after my delivery.

I even took to leaving Tommy's house earlier some afternoons to go home to read the papers before dinner and the television had to be on for me to watch the evening news to get another slant on things. My parents didn't know what to make of the athlete and scholar who'd suddenly shown up at their house. We rarely talked by they saw the newer more confident son that had come to stay.


Send Rick an email at quillswritersrealm@yahoo.com

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"Gay Boy Running" Copyright © 1 April 2010 OLYMPIA50. All rights reserved.
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