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Blissful LivingBy NOPYou all know it, you all love it. Two boys growing up in a different way. *DISCLAIMER* Chapter 12 "Hi, is Carol there?" I asked. Robbie was sleeping, his arms curled around my waist. "Her son." I waited patiently, feeling Robbie squeeze around my waist to show his anger over being woken up. "Hi honey, how are you?" "I'm good. I was just lying here awake and figured I had a calling card." "Well, thanks for calling me." She laughed a little, "I tried calling you yesterday but you must have been out." "We're in Denver, visiting a friend." "Denver?" She seemed a little annoyed, "Why didn't you tell me?" "I guess it never really came up." "Well... are you having fun?" I glanced down at Robbie, my hands twirling through his hair, stroking the short strands, wishing they were longer. "Yeah, I'm having a blast." "So... have you thought about Christmas?" "Yeah, that's kind of why I was calling." I could tell she was waiting hopefully on the other line, "I would love to visit you for Christmas." "Oh, great! John really wants to meet you." "He sounds like an interesting guy." "How long is your break?" "We'll see how long I can get suspended for next time." I stated jokingly. "You got suspended?" She asked flatly. "It really wasn't my fault," I defended, "he hit me first." "You were fighting?" "Self defense is hardly fighting." "What have I always told you?" "Violence isn't a solution, it's a problem." I murmured back, rolling my eyes, "But sometimes mom, you get tired of always getting the brunt of the problem." "Well, if you didn't try to stand out so much." "Other people's anger is not my problem, I don't provoke those assholes, I try to stay the hell away from them." Robbie rolled over and pulled the sheets over his head. "Watch your language." she reprimanded. "Sorry." I mumbled, "It just ticks me off. I've tried to keep out of trouble, and usually I don't fight back, but there were two of them and I lost it." "Two?" "Twins." "Babe, why don't you talk to the school?" she sighed, "Let them handle these jerks." "That's funny mom." I scoffed a little, "They know all about it, it's been going on for years." "Now I'm gonna be worrying about you." "Don't, I'll be okay." I smiled, "I've gotta go, running out of time." "Okay, call me later about Christmas." "Alright, I will, bye." "I love you." "I love you too." I set the receiver down on the phone and placed the plastic calling card on the night stand. Robbie readjusted himself so his head was on my chest. "So I guess we're not spending Christmas together." "Sorry, but I miss my mom." "I know." He kissed my neck and relaxed back into sleep. "Isn't there anyway you can get counseling?" she didn't even look up, "Twenty years, mom, that's a long time." She continued to frantically throw her clothes into the suitcase as if I weren't even there. She zipped up her bag and turned to me square, "Don't think this is your fault. And, you don't have to talk to him." She cupped my face, tears in the corners of her eyes, "Just water the plants and do your school things." "Mom, you don't have to go... you can fix this." "You'll understand baby, just give it a week." She kissed my forehead and pulled me into a tight hug, "You're so tall." She rubbed my shoulders and smiled, "Don't forget the plant by the back door." she lugged the bag out to her car and left. I went to school, knowing full well that my dad would be coming home to an empty house. The dread I had at going home was more than I had ever felt about grades, fights, bad tests, or even when I had shattered the computer screen with a baseball. I walked slow, marched in silence and weary nervousness. There was no telling what I'd find when I got home. The cloud cover was most appropriate for my memories, but horrible for the actual scene. I walked into the house, the lights were all off. I couldn't hear anything but my own footsteps, even though I saw my dad's car in the driveway. I tentatively set my bag by the door and crept to the kitchen. I was frantic for a response from any where in the house and began to exaggerate the noise I needed to make to walk through the house. I wanted him to have full warning before I found him doing... what ever. I stumbled to the opening of their bedroom and looked in. I leaned against the frame with sudden laxness. He was cupping his face with his hands and crying softly, his shoulders shivering. He sat directly across from the half empty closet, "I screwed up." He shivered. "Why'd she leave." I hoarsely asked. He didn't make any hint of a reply. I cleared my throat and tried again, "Dad, why did mom leave?" He looked up at me and broke into even more tears. He curled back on the bed, completely vulnerable, and shook with tears. "Fine." I yelled, "Leave me in dark!" I whipped into reverse and stomped out the house, my hands in the front pockets of my hooded jacket. I stamped my way down the streets without looking up until I arrived at his house. Robbie was reading, some assignment from school, on the front porch and noticed me at the edge of their yard. I'm sure it was something in my posture that made him stand up and tentatively wait, his finger holding his spot. I stepped the stairs up to meet him, my eyes never actually looking up. I felt the soft, glowing warmth of his neck against my cheek as I planted for comfort. His arms gently cradled and directed me inside and up to his bedroom where I cried. We were only friends at the time, but he held me for several hours while I just cried. And when my face was effectively swollen and dry, he calmly asked me what happened... what's wrong. And I barely answered. "Well, at least you can't get a Frank." he shrugged, "They only made one of him." I managed to laugh along with him for a second. And despite those comforting thoughts, I hadn't ever been sure that I wouldn't get another Frank. With that dread in mind, I loaded up on the plane, my bag held in front of me as I walked down the small aisles, my passport in my teeth. I found my seat, which was suppose to be by the window, but sadly I was beaten by a younger kid. It's amazing how much responsibility you take on when you sit next to a seven-year-old. I felt in charge when her mother and father, right behind, were sleeping; making sure she had a blanket and letting her listen to a few of my CDs that seemed appropriate. She was, all in all, a good flyer. When I got off the plane, I got an unexpected hug and a picture she'd made on my paper. She skipped off through the terminal, her parents, looking as rough as I felt, chased after her and another little one. Just another sprint though custom lines and I would be standing in front of the woman that gave me life. Being the frequent international traveler that most teens generally are, I lost all concept of time in that line. I didn't know which direction I had entered that sorry set up by the time I weaved through the lines. Passport out, wallet out, jewelry off, belt in bag, papers filled out, I was ready. I even knew a few Italian phrases to get me through politely. By the time I made it to the front, I'd fallen to shambles and hadn't any idea what I did with anything while I slowly scooted towards the booth. The baggage claim wasn't much better than the customs line. With the hold up in customs, the claim was already in use by another flights, all bags were at the counter. So I landed in another line of pissed off travelers, a few I'd seen before. And there I waited, actually slept at one point while crouched down. The arguments convinced me that Italian was not a romance language. The hands flew up and down and all around as people, one after another, shook their fists at the customs door. I scooted along and started politely in Italian before saying my name and displaying my boarding stub. In near perfect English he told me, without looking down at the computer, that he did not have my bag. "Pardon? Please, can you look? Por-FA-vori." My head was way past pounding, not it was like a Moby song blasting continually between my ears. "Wait over there." He pointed to another, closed, counter. I sighed and stood at the window, trying to dose while standing. I tried to read a little, from Robbie's favorite book that I'd been meaning to read, The Alchemist. But my weary eyes and mind wouldn't let me. Every word forced a new pounding beat into the repetition and made my eyes quiver shut. When the line had dwindled from people of my flight to a few from another, I re-approached. "Porfavori, I would like my bag." I presented my stub and my passport. "Wait over there." He pointed to the wall. "I've been waiting for over an hour." he glared at me as if I was stupid, "I would like my bag please." I tried to maintain a weak smile. He took my stub and typed into the computer. In seconds he presented me with my item. "Gratzi." I smiled and walked out into the reception area. "Oh! My baby boy!" I heard a shrill scream and looked around. My mother, blending into the European population, skipped towards me and grabbed me in a tight hug. I quickly embraced her and smiled. She was a lot shorter than I had remembered, "Oh, my little baby boy, all grown up." She patted my cheek and hooked an arm around my waist. "I was beginning to think you hadn't come." "Oh, customs and baggage was horrible." I sighed and gripped my head with my free arm. "It must have been a bear, I've been waiting for four hours, and I had thought I was gonna be late." "Four hours?" I was a little shocked. "This," she pointed to a nice looking, middle-aged man in a nice jacket, "is John." She introduced us. "Hi, John." I shook his hand, feeling his strong grip. He made confident eye contact with me and smiled. I relaxed, more at ease. His smooth mannerisms assured me he wasn't as uncoordinated as Frank, anyways. "I've heard so much about you." He said with an accent. "Yeah, I've heard about you as well." I smiled back. "You're so tall." My mother smiled, pulling my attention back onto her, "I didn't think you were gonna be this tall." I smiled a bit, "I'm not that tall." "You must be hungry." John offered, "Let's go do lunch." "Thank you." he grabbed my bag for me and let me walk with my mother, her arm around my waist and mine around her shoulder. "You're so skinny, we'll fatten you up." She rubbed my flat stomach. I blushed a little bit and looked around. I was dressed normal to American kids, relatively; however, the rest of the kids that seemed my age were so much more formal than I was. They didn't have the t-shirt and the shorts, but nice polo shirts or dress shirts and pants. They all had leather boots, no one wore tennis shoes, of course, neither was I. But it was strange looking at these people and imagining what they thought of my trashy American looks. "I suppose you would like some pizza?" John asked, "Real Italian Pizza!" He pushed my bag into his trunk. "Right now, I don't care what I eat." I smiled and slipped into the cramped back seat of his sports car. "Just wait till we get home, there's some brilliant seafood dishes." my mother smiled, looking behind her seat. "What's that?" I exclaimed just barely three hundred feet from the airport. I was pressed against the window trying to look through the passing cars and the trees and the buildings that were in my way. "That is a part of the Roman Aqueducts." My mom said. "Whoa." I sat back and despite how my eyes burned to close I kept them open and fixed on the small window, "Wow... what's that?" "That's the palaces of the Emperors, Palatine Hill." John replied. "That's where Nero lived." My mom commented. "Here, you'll like this." John took a right turn and started down a road. It curved around the Palaces and a church ruin before straightening to be heading straight to the Coliseum. The arches let the sun shine through and silhouetted the architecture. "My God." I stared at it as we circled around to the left. "We'll be there again, but we need to eat first." my mom commented. "How do you like that pizza?" John smiled. "Oh, it's really good, very different." I smiled, feeling the full effects of the large meal. My eye lids pleaded with me to close in the back seat. "We'll come back to Rome early and do some touring then." My mom assured. I drifted off to sleep as John sped down the highway to his home. His house was airy and bright. The widows were curtained with a thin, white cloth that the wind gently blew. The yard was covered in orange and lemon trees and almond trees and olive trees. There wasn't any wasted space. Everything was economically groomed. Small, quiet birds bounced around the open patio that was my room for my stay. I made a quiet entrance into the downstairs kitchen. "Morning." I greeted my mother with a smile. "Afternoon." "What time is it?" "One." "Sorry." "It's alright, just a little jet lag." she shrugged, "What would you like for breakfast?" "I'm pretty good, actually." I smiled, "I'm not big on breakfast." "It use to be your favorite meal." "Yeah, guess sleeping in became my favorite thing." I smiled a bit. "How about an orange?" She held one up, "From the neighbors." "Sure, I guess." I took it and managed the peeling. "I need to call dad, and let him know I got here." "I already did." "Thanks." We looked away from each other in silence. The awkward nature that had never existed in our conversations had infiltrated every strand that connected us. "So how's school been going?" She asked. "One more year to suffer through and I'll be done." "What, exactly, were you suspended for?" "I broke a kid's nose." I shrugged with a please smile. "Shawn!" She shook her head and sighed, "That's nothing to be proud of." "Self defense," I shrugged, "he broke mine about a year and a half ago." "Do you get beat up often?" "Well, yeah." "Why do people beat you up?" she was saddened by my response. I paused and suddenly I didn't have the fear and anxiety in my gut that I had expected I would, "I have a boyfriend." She leaned in as if she thought I wasn't quite done with what I was saying, "What?" She asked shortly, stunned. "I have a boyfriend, his name is Robert." "You're gay?" she said without any emotion, like she had made another comment on my height "No... I have a boyfriend." "You're gay?" she was filling up with an emotional mixture of disbelief and pain. "No mom, I'm just in love with another boy." I was nearly exasperated with her stoic face, I wanted something I could go off of, something solid. She cleared her throat, "You're in love?" she scoffed a little, "You're seventeen." she was shaking her head furiously side to side. "I don't know what to tell you," I felt a slight pain in my chest, "I love him." "Is he the one you saw in Denver?" she was raising her voice. "Yes." "Does your father know?" she was taking short, quick breaths to accompany her rising temper. "Yes." "You told your father before you told me." oh, she was angry; but I still wasn't sure whether it was about who knew before her or that it was a fact. "It didn't happen like that." I huffed a little in my frustration, "Robbie was in trouble and he came to my house and dad just noticed us." "Were you having," She quieted her voice, but her hands clenched in her lap, "relations?" "Not at that particular time." Her lips pursed. "Mom, I'm still your son, and I'm going to be here for another two weeks, and I'm gonna be around for many more years." "Milton Shawn, I just don't know what to think." She sat down in a chair. "Don't call me Milton." I reacted like I did with other members of our family. "I named you, I can call you Milton." she responded as she had for many years. I looked at her, waiting for a good sign that she was going to accept me. "Mom." I tried to hurry. "Just give me a minute." she was holding back powerful emotions with her hand to her mouth. I patiently waited, sitting across from her at the table, watching her face display no new emotion. Her breaths calmed down, soothed into a normal rhythm. Her hand dropped from her mouth and met the other in her lap. Her eyes remained focused on the table in front of her. I slipped a sliver of orange into my mouth, waiting. |
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