Confessions

As I settled in to the Forn residence routine, I noticed several things. Chris and his mom were genuinely fond of each other. They played around and joked with each other like they were friends, but Kathlene was unmistakably the source of authority. It was disconcerting. One moment she’d be relaxed and calm, and the next she was in full blown mother mode. I never knew which one was coming out when.

That’s not exactly true. I knew when Mother Forn was on the surface, because I continually tested her, trying to figure out if she really did care about me. Chris became impatient with my pissing her off at every turn. Kathlene would take out her frustrations on him, because he was near her at the wrong time, and I felt a small twinge of conscience each time it happened.

Chris and I had developed a routine for the long summer days. We’d run every other morning and work out on the mornings we didn’t run. Despite Chris’ warnings, I threw myself into the program with total abandon, pulling muscles like a taffy machine. The only time I gave my body a rest is when Chris threatened to quit training me completely if I didn’t slow down and let my muscles heal.

When I wasn’t working out, I was reading, or sometimes Chris and I would play games in the lower level family room. They had a pool table set up in a spare room, and we often set up a ping pong table on the patio. Cards became a favorite pastime as well. We would occasionally call up Patrick and play whiffle ball in the park, but more often than not Chris and I spent our time with just each other for company. I spent a a fair amount of that time brooding in my room, leaving Chris to his own devices.

About a month after I first moved in, I had a particularly rough day, being exhausted both physically and emotionally after one of Chris’ grueling workouts. We were eating dinner, and Kathlene mentioned that I should think about going home to pick up the rest of my clothes. I didn’t respond well.

“Fuck that!”

“Brian Andrew!” Kathlene was shocked and slightly perturbed at my choice of language.

I stood and said, “Uh uh. I ain’t going back there. No way in hell!”

Kathlene set her face in a firm mask as I spoke. Chris just sat back and watched with resignation what had become an all too common event.

“Listen to me, Brian. The clothes you have here are not enough to adequately clothe you. About half of the clothes are worn out, and the other half are just plain too small for you.”

“So?”

“So, you need to get what clothing is left down there and bring it here if you’re going to stay here.” Her tone brooked no argument, but that had never stopped me ~~fome~~ from squabbling with her.

“You’re telling me that if I don’t get my clothes, you’re going to kick me out?”

“Do I have to drag you down there myself?” Kathlene had avoided my question completely, and left no doubt she would try to do exactly what she said.

I involuntarily took a step backward, but my pride came forward and stopped me there.

“You and whose army?” It was all I could think of to say at the moment.

Kathlene stood, and I took another step back, toward the sliding door.

Leaning forward, she placed her hands on the table and said, “Tomorrow is Saturday. At ten o’clock, we will go to your home, and we will pack what remains of your clothing into a box. It will only take a few minutes, and it won’t hurt you to say hello to your parents and sister. When we’ve accomplished that, we will come back here.”

“How about this. We go down to where they live, I tell them to fuck off and die, and then we leave?” Somehow, Kathlene always managed to bring out the best in me with her comments.

“Go to your room. Think about what you’ve said here tonight. I’ll be up shortly to discuss it with you.”

I blinked rapidly, unable to believe Kathlene was sending me to my room. Then I snorted, turned my back, and walked toward the front door.

As I opened the door, I said with a sneer, “Whatever,” and walked out into the twilight, slamming the door behind me for good measure.

Looking around, I realized that I really had no place to go. My grandparents? Couldn’t go there to live. They’d send me home in a heartbeat. I didn’t know anyone else well enough to beg for a place to stay. No one would understand anyway. Who would believe a twelve year old boy falling in love with another...

I stopped that train of thought immediately. It was difficult enough trying to deal with all the pain and anger without adding to it. Besides, how did I know what I’d experienced was really love? I didn’t know what love felt like so how could I be sure?

Sitting heavily on the porch, I pulled up my knees, and rested my head in my arms. Tears flowed down my cheeks and dripped to the cement as the thoughts I had tried to avoid came flooding back.

I loved him. I really did love him. How was I going to go on knowing that he’s out there somewhere? Would he know I cared? Would he try to keep in touch? It didn’t really matter. He was gone and those... people... let him go without telling me, without letting me say goodbye. Rage flared anew in my soul, burning brightly. It wanted an outlet, but my weary body simply couldn’t rise to the occasion. Instead of physically acting out to alleviate my fury, I turned it inward, letting the fires of my rage burn brightly. It wanted an outlet, but my weary body just couldn’t rise to the occasion. Instead of physically acting out to alleviate my fury, I turned it inward, letting the embers of my anger find a place deep in my heart; a place that would keep them warm.

I would eventually learn to use my anger as a source of energy, a driving force to keep me going. When I got angry at my parents, it stoked the inferno of rage burning in my heart. I looked upon it as a blessing which I could use to accomplish all I wanted to from sports to academics. For that, I was perversely thankful that my parents acted as they had.

An unexpected side-effect of burying the anger I had toward my family was the submergence of my other emotions. My father had taught me to suppress them, but suppression is not the same as submergence. Most emotions didn’t touch me anymore. I swallowed everything and only reacted to extreme feelings that came along. This became instinctive, and it’s something that I still fight years after the fact.

The door opened behind me. I heard Kathlene close the door gently. She sat beside me and put an arm around me. Angrily, I shrugged it off and shifted away from her. She reached out to put her hand on my arm.

“Don’t!” I barked the command and moved to the edge of the porch.

Kathlene again sat next to me, but ceased her efforts to touch me. I stared off into the distance, tears still falling down the mask of painful hate etched into my face. She calmly observed me for a moment, taking in my posture, expression, and trembling body.

“Brian, if you don’t want to go, then we won’t go,” she said quietly. “I can go down on my own or take Chris with me.”

I didn’t respond in any way. I didn’t move, say anything, or change my breathing, but the tears came faster with every passing moment.

Kathlene continued, “Honey, I know you hurt. I know what it is to lose people in your life. Pete was your best friend. He meant a lot to you. I understand that, but I also know that we must move beyond that pain. Would Pete want you to carry on like this? Would he want you to reject your family and anyone else who tries to get close?”

I sniffed. How could she do this? How did she know just the right words to break me?

“You aren’t alone, Brian,” Kathlene affirmed softly. “I want to help you, but you have to let me. Chris is inside the house right now, wondering what he’s done to deserve the way you’ve been treating him.”

I sniffed again. Through the tears, I said, “I didn’t do anything to him.”

“I know that. That’s exactly why he’s so confused. You don’t do anything. You treat him as if he were a robot. You don’t speak to him, or to me, for that matter, outside of bare necessity. We want to help you Brian, but you have to let us in!” Kathlene pleaded. “Please let us in.”

I jumped up and yelled at her. “I can’t!”

“Why not?” She questioned with equal fervor as she looked up at me. “What would be so horrible about letting us share your pain, to help you deal with your loss?”

I looked at her intently and all but shouted through gritted teeth, “I don’t know how! He was more than my best friend! He was...”

I bit my lip hard and tasted blood. I couldn’t tell her about Pete and me. Why couldn’t they just leave it alone and let me move on? I sat again, my psyche folding in around me, attempting to protect me from the pain I was feeling.

Kathlene moved closer, and again put her arm around me. I didn’t resist her efforts to pull me to her.

“Brian,” she said so quietly that I had to strain to hear her, “I know what Pete meant to you.”

I looked up at her incredulously, fear blossoming in my heart.

“You know I’m in contact with your parents, and I also talked to Danny. I know what you and Pete went through and what set the events in motion. I know you loved him, Brian, and how.”

“You know?” I wasn’t sure how I felt about Danny or my parents telling Kathlene about my sexuality.

“Yes, honey, I know.”

Tears continued to flow as I pondered the ramifications. She knew I was gay. Knowing this, how could she want me to stay with her and her son? Wasn’t she afraid I would turn Chris gay? That I’d try to get him to have sex with me? Was that what I was afraid of, or was I just afraid of being gay?

Did I want to be gay? The answer was undeniably no. I didn’t want to be hazed or ranked out for daily pummeling. Why would I want that? Why would anyone want that? So many questions filled my mind that I couldn’t think.

“When do you want me out?” I asked with a sniffle.

“What do you mean?” Kathlene asked with puzzlement.

“I mean, I’m... I’m gay. You can’t want me to be here...”

“Now, stop that,” Kathlene said crossly. “There will be no further discussion about you leaving. You being gay - if that’s what you are - has nothing to do with my decision to keep you with us. You’re still a young boy, Brian. You have many years ahead of you before you will be certain of your sexuality. Adolescence is a period of self-discovery. A lot of boys do things with other boys. It doesn’t mean they’re gay. The fact that you love Pete means that you have a great capacity for love in your heart. If you are gay, then you’re gay. If you’re straight, you’re straight. And none of it matters in the slightest.”

Kathlene paused, gauging my reaction to her words, then continued.

“Do you really think I would kick you out?” Kathlene asked quietly.

I nodded, lowering my gaze to the ground beneath my feet.

“Why?”

“Because I’m gay!” I said dejectedly. “Aren’t you afraid that I’m going to make Chris gay too?”

“No, I’m not. Sexuality is not something one chooses. It just is. Why would I hate you for something you can’t control?”

“I’m a faggot, okay?” My bitter words echoed down the street. “You’ll kick me out as soon as you can find another place for me!”

“Oh, honey, I would never do that,” Kathlene said as she pulled me to her. “I may threaten to put you out, but I could never do it. You’re a very special person, Brian.” She touched my chest. “You have a big heart inside of you. You have a lot to give back. We don’t hate you, Brian. We love you. It’s impossible to hate just one part of a person like that. Could you imagine hating Chris because he has blue eyes?”

I shook my head.

“No? It’s no different than you being gay.”

“But...”

“Do you really know why homosexuality scares so many people?” Kathlene asked urgently. “They don’t understand because it’s different, and that makes them afraid. They don’t want to admit that it’s something beyond human control. They don’t want to admit that God, in all His wisdom, made each and every one of us just like He wanted us to be. There is no difference between hating someone for the color of their skin and hating someone because of their sexuality. Neither one can be changed, and the hate for one is no more excusable than the hate for the other. You’re smart. You can see that.”

Kathlene changed gears. “We, Chris and I, need you here with us. Chris has been a totally different person since you came to live here with us.”

“Yeah,” I said sarcastically, “he’s completely different, having to deal with me. I’m a barrel of laughs.” Despondency colored my voice as sobs took over my body. “All I do is hurt him! I don’t want to! I don’t want to hurt anyone! All I want is to have Pete back!

She engulfed me in a warm embrace as I let go of the pain I was holding back. My tears soaked her blouse in no time as I cried in despair.

Chris was my best, my only friend, and I had treated him like he meant nothing to me. I had treated Kathlene the same, too, only I was constantly pissing her off, trying to get her to kick me out and testing the limits of her endurance.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I’m scared! I don’t know what to do!”

“Shhh. That’s all right, honey. That’s why I’m here. That’s why Chris is here. You have family, Brian. Your mom and dad, in spite of what you may think, do care for you. They want what’s best for you. They were trying to do that the day Pete left, and they’re trying to do it now. That’s why they agreed to let you live here with us. Your parents understand, Brian, why you feel like you do. They just wish it weren’t so.”

“I’ll never stop hating them,” I grated. My crying had subsided as she had spoken, but an occasional sob caused me to inhale quickly.

“Never is a long time, hon. Don’t think about it now. Let’s just concentrate on you, all right? Will you come inside and finish your dinner?”

Kathlene stood and pulled me up with her. Holding me at arms length, she examined me, staring into my red, swollen eyes.

“Everything will work out for the best, Brian. I know it will.”

“Yeah,” I whispered “I hope so.” I hoped I’d see Pete again, too.

We walked back into the house and sat down at the table. Chris was not in evidence and his dishes had been removed. I pushed my food around for a few moments in silence as Kathlene finished her meal, then I asked her if I could go up to my room. She nodded and I made my escape.

I saw Chris’ door was ajar as I climbed the stairs. I could see him laying on his bed reading something he had printed out from the computer. As I watched Chris, his brow furrowed with concentration as he read the paper. Every once in a while, he would look off in the distance and smile slightly, and then go back to reading.

Hesitantly, I padded to his door and knocked softly. Chris immediately looked up and waved me in. I stood in the middle of his room uncomfortably, not really sure why I had knocked in the first place. Chris watched me patiently as I looked everywhere but at him. After gathering my courage, I spoke.

“I’m sorry, Chris.”

“For what, Brian?” He asked.

“For treating you like shit,” I said simply.

“You weren’t treating me like shit,” Chris refuted. “It’s more like you weren’t treating me at all.”

“That’s what I mean, Chris.” I explained. “You took me in. You gave me a place to stay, and you’ve been hanging out with me when I know there are other things you’d rather be doing...”

“Brian, it’s not...” Chris started.

“...and other people you’d rather be doing it with. You’re teaching me how to train, and I don’t really give you anything in return.”

“Brian...”

“I’m really fucked up, Chris. I’m so screwed up, and I don’t know what to do about it. You’ve already given me enough. You don’t need to deal with my shit too.”

“Brian, shut up,” Chris said softly.

I lapsed into silence and watched Chris put down the papers he’d been reading as he slid over to sit on the side of the bed. He patted the spot next to him. I took it warily as Chris turned to face me.

“Brian,” Chris began, “when my dad died, it took me almost a year to get back to something close to normal. Even now, there are days where I just don’t want to get out of bed. There are days I curse God and ask Him why dad had to go. and, there are days when I don’t think about it at all. Not because I don’t care, but because life goes on.”

I stared at my feet as he spoke, afraid to let him see what I was truly feeling.

“After dad was buried, it took all of us a long time before we could keep everything calm and not fight with each other, because we were all angry and in pain and all of that had to come out somewhere. All we had was each other, so that’s where we vented.

“I know you and Pete are very close friends, and that he left suddenly. I don’t know what happened exactly: you haven’t told me, and I’m not going to ask. If you want to keep it to yourself, then that’s fine. Just remember though, mom and I are here if you ever decide to talk to us.

“You’re my friend, Brian. You’re pretty much my best friend,” Chris overrode my protests, “even though you’ve been treating me like you have! If I didn’t want to spend time with you, I wouldn’t. I have other friends too, Brian, but I’d rather be with you.

“Give yourself some time to work this through. I understand. All you can do is try, okay?”

Chris leaned forward and put his hand on my shoulder. He squeezed gently prompting me to respond with a wan smile. What I did to deserve Chris in my life I’ll never know, but I thank God for him every day.

Sighing deeply, I made the decision I should have made the first day I moved in.

“Chris,” I said, “I’m going to tell you what happened. You deserve to know.”

“Brian, you don’t…”

“Yes I do. I owe you that much. One day about a week before school ended, I, uh, caught Pete crying at his locker. I asked him what was up, and when he wouldn’t talk to me in school, I drug him out to the bleachers at the football field.

“You remember when he and Ashley were going out?” I asked.

Chris nodded curiously. I swallowed, trying to make the lump in my throat disappear.

“I need some water,” I said, and I hastily ran to the kitchen.

“Slow down, Brian. No running in the house, remember?” Kathlene seemed mildly perturbed.

“Sorry. I need some water.”

After filling my glass, I quickly walked up the stairs and back into Chris’ room. He’d made himself more comfortable on his bed, leaning against the headboard. I sat at the foot and leaned against the wall. As I continued the story, I stared blankly into his closet.

“Pete and Ashley, well, they had a falling out.”

“I know,” Chris said. “I heard about it. No one would say why. Ashley was really embarrassed.”

“Well, I found out why that day. When we got to the back of the bleachers, Pete kind of collapsed against them, crying. When I asked him again what was wrong, he told me about when he and Ashley were alone at her house. They started messing around, getting naked and everything. But there was a problem. Pete, uh, couldn’t keep an erection.”

Chris said, “That can happen sometimes.”

“No, you don’t understand. She didn’t excite him! Nothing she did could keep him hard. He left and walked home because he was embarrassed.”

“Okay. I’m still a little lost here.” Chris was obviously confused.

I sighed. “When we talked about it, he got upset and cried. He said he didn’t want to be gay.”

Chris stared at me for a second, then comprehension dawned.

“Pete's gay?”

I nodded miserably. “Yes.”

“Wow.” Again, confusion fell over Chris’ features. “Okay, I can understand that. But...”

“After he told me he was gay, he said he was in love with me.”

“Whoa.” Chris was shocked.

Sighing again, I continued, “And... I realized I love him too.”

Chris carefully asked, “Like a brother?”

I shook my head. “No. Chris, I’m as sure as I can be that I’m gay.” I sniffed, fighting back tears. “I understand if you don’t want to be around me anymore.”

“You love Pete? Like a boyfriend?” Chris seemed curious and he didn’t display the hostility I expected.

“Yeah, I do.” I looked at him plainly and repeated, “Chris, I’m gay.”

“So what?” Chris asked. “Do you think it matters to me who you love? It doesn’t, Brian. Don’t worry about it. I still want you here. You’re my friend. It’s fun having you around. Just don’t come on to me, okay?” Chris joked.

Unbelievingly, I asked, “That’s it?”

“What do you want me to do? Jump up and run away screaming? That’s not a very nice way to treat a brother, is it?”

“Brother?”

It was Chris’ turn to sigh. “Brian, I love you too, but as a brother. This doesn’t change that. It’s part of who you are. I can’t love one part of you and hate another part. I’d have to split you down the middle if that were the case, and that would get messy” he said with a grin.

I felt tears once more falling down my cheeks. “That’s what your mom said.”

Chris moved over to sit next to me and put his arm around me. “Who do you think taught me?”

We sat there for a couple hours and I told him the whole story, relating every event that had occurred, as accurately as I remembered it. Chris hugged me tighter as I spilled my guts, comforting me as I cried again and again. He even shed a few tears of his own. I told him about Brenda trying to keep us apart and her final, successful bid to separate us.

“I really loved him, Chris. I really did, and no one took us seriously, except that bitch Brenda, and she took him away from me. She blamed me for making Pete gay!”

Chris sat behind me as I leaned against him, holding me tightly as I wound down. When I had recovered, he suggested a short run to clear our heads. I agreed reluctantly, but was glad for the jog by the time it was over. When we returned, I showered and turned in, falling asleep almost immediately. Nightmares woke me every so often, but I had no problems finding sleep again.

As the summer rolled on, Chris and I continued to spend the majority of our time together, no matter what we were doing. I was at last seeing results from the workouts, and that prompted me to work even harder. On our runs, I still couldn’t keep pace with Chris, but I wasn’t far behind. Our path normally took us on a five mile jog. I convinced Chris to up our workout schedule from four days a week to five, and we increased the amount of time spent in each session.

Chris was rapidly putting on muscle mass as well as increasing his endurance. While I put on just a little weight, my endurance was vastly increased and my muscle tone was excellent.

Neither Chris nor I really liked wearing t-shirts when we worked out because they got in the way. It was the same with the baggy shorts that most kids wore, so we bought running shorts that just covered the hips and groin area. As time passed, that was all Chris and I wore around the house. I must also say that Chris’ rapidly developing body was quite striking in the skimpy clothing we wore. Kathlene started calling us “her personal streakers” in an effort to embarrass us into wearing more clothing, but it didn’t work.

On July 31^st, we two boys went to an organizational meeting at César Chavez Middle School, where we would be attending for our eighth grade year. There were a large number of boys standing around talking in the gym where the football team meeting was held. The coaches introduced themselves and handed out playbooks while they took our names and phone numbers. They also handed out consent forms and informed us we needed to get a sports physical if we wanted to play.

Practice wouldn’t officially start until August fourteenth, but the coaches recommended that we start to get in shape before then. Chris and I looked at one another and grinned. We had a head start, it seemed.

I ended up having to face my mom to get the permission form signed. I didn’t even look at them, and I didn’t say anything. I just slapped the paper down in front of my her, and she signed it. I ignored all attempts at communication. There was still too much pain.

When practice finally did start, Chris, who stood five-nine, was quickly placed as a lineman on both sides of the football. On the other hand, the coaches had a hard time figuring out where to put me, but my speed made me an excellent candidate for both receiver and safety, even if I was undersized at five-four.

Brent and his cronies were on the team as well and went out of their way to badger me as often as possible, calling me a disposable receiver (put me in for one play then throw me in the trash) along with the usual taunts. I also earned a new nickname as the season opener drew closer. Brent actually started it and his cohorts went along, thinking it was hilarious. One day in practice, I was playing safety and Brent, a fullback, broke through the defensive line and the secondary. I, being the only one between Brent and the end zone, needed to take him down, so I charged him.

I could see the evil grin on his face as we closed on one another. Just before we met, I realized he was going to attempt to run right over me. In that instant, I let the anger and fear he instilled in me come to the surface. With all the strength I possessed, I put my face right in his chest, intent on driving him backwards. Much to my surprise, Brent’s forward momentum actually stopped, and we fell to the side.

The coach blew his whistle and said, “That’s how you tackle, men! Get your helmet right in there and stay with them until they’re down. Good job, Kellam!”

With sarcasm dripping from his voice, Brent said, “Yeah, way to go, Mighty Mouse.” The name stuck with me and became a badge of honor, much to Brent’s chagrin.

I rolled away from him and regained my feet. I felt energized, like I was ready to do it again. I got many chances. Brent would come at me whenever he got the opportunity, and I’d do the same thing I did before, but not always with such memorable results.

The week before our first game, the team roster was completed. The coaches hung it in the locker room as we were dressing down for all to see. The people who didn’t make the cut would turn in their gear, while the team would go out and practice.

“C’mon, Brian,” Chris said excitedly, “lets see if we made it!”

“You go ahead, Chris. I have to get my stuff ready to turn in.”

“Bet you made the team,” he said confidently.

“Yeah, right.” I was thoroughly convinced I had been cut even before the list came out.

“All right,” Chris said, “wait here and I’ll check for both of us.”

“Sure.”

He came back a moment later. I surreptitiously studied his face, trying to determine what he’d seen. Without comment, Chris sat down and continued putting on his pads.

“Congratulations, Chris!” I said as I pounded him on the back.

“Congratulations, yourself,” he grinned. “You better get those pads on or you’ll be late.”

“Huh? What?”

Clearly amused, Chris said, “You made the team, you dork!”

I jumped to my feet. “No fucking way!”

“I’m telling you, ya made the team. Check it out for yourself!”

Chris chuckled as I raced to the front of the room. Sure enough, my name was there.

From behind, I heard a voice say, “Need a boost, Mighty Mouse?”

Of course it was Brent. His partners in crime were laughing openly, but I pretended they didn’t exist. I walked back to my locker slowly, a grin stretching my face.

When I got near Chris, I smiled broadly and loudly shouted, “I made the team!” Which drew a few chuckles from the guys around us

Chris returned my smile and simply said, “Told you.”

After working out all summer, the football practices added a good change of pace to our routine, but I still lifted at home most days until my body ached with that special exhaustion that let me know I’d had a good workout. Chris usually lifted with me, but when he couldn’t or didn’t want to, I did what I could do safely without a spotter. It was mostly dumbbell work, but it was effective.

Kathlene, Chris, and I had settled into an easy family relationship. Chris and I acted like brothers anywhere, occasionally bickering over trivial matters and driving our mom up the wall. Kathlene acted as my mother, too. She scolded me and would mete out any kind of punishment I deserved. Chris wasn’t immune either. A couple of times, Chris and I did stupid things and ended up being grounded, which didn’t bother us too much because we enjoyed being together anyway. Once Kathlene realized this, though, she sentenced us to our rooms. That was the only real effective punishment she had for us, but she used it sparingly.

The school year started on August twenty-eighth. Chris and I shared two of seven classes: Phys Ed and Computer Science. I dropped band because I just wasn’t into it anymore now that Pete was gone. It would have brought up memories that I didn’t want to deal with.

Academics provided me with another outlet for all my excess energy. I dedicated myself to academics just as I had working out. Between football, schoolwork, and working out, I had little free time. The homework was surprisingly easy for me since I had lost my attitude about it being boring and a waste of time. I learned so much that it was incredible.

It became apparent, however, that Chris wasn’t the best student in certain subjects. Early on in the year, Chris knocked on my door one evening.

“Brian, do you have a minute? I’m having some trouble with this problem.”

“Sure. Come on in, bro.”

He walked to my bed and sat next to me, math book in hand. It was really a review set of problems that had been easy for me, but for Chris it was an impenetrable barrier. We worked through the first problem together, then the second. He seemed to understand the concept and process as we worked the equations, but Chris couldn’t recall it on the exams. I agreed to tutor him every night to help him along. From then on, we did all our homework together as long as circumstances allowed us to.

My birthday came and went, uncelebrated for the most part, just as I had asked. Chris and Kathlene gave me a card and took me out to dinner. I really appreciated the effort they both made toward me, knowing how I felt. I heard nothing from my parents.

As the football season went on, our team lost every game we played but not because Chris or I didn’t try. Half the team gave up midway through the schedule. Several people just quit and turned in their gear. Chris and I gave it our all and tried to make up for the holes left by the quitters, but two people can only do so much.

Chris had won the starting offensive right guard position, but he also played the line on defense as needed. He enjoyed all of it, and usually came away from a game or practice smiling.

We both loved football. Chris and I focused our workouts muscle groups we needed to strengthen to improve our performance on the field. Some of the exercises we did felt utterly ridiculous, but if you judge by our performance they helped immensely. The coaches regularly commented how well we were doing personally and set us up as examples the team should follow.

This did nothing to endear me with Brent and his pack of losers, but I had earned a strange respect from them. The physical hazing stopped when I won the starting safety position, and I doubled as a receiver occasionally. Fortunately Brent limited his abuse to calling me names and cutting me down in the halls, but I could ignore that.

Our first quarter grades came out in the end of October. I really had no clue what I’d get, but I knew I was doing well. Chris was dreading the report card, worried that he might have blown the mid-term exam in math.

When the card arrived in the mail, Chris was literally shaking as he opened it. He pulled it out and looked at it. And looked at it. And looked at it.

“C’mon Chris. Give it up! How’d you do?” I asked impatiently.

A broad smile spread across his face as he handed me the paper. He’d received four ‘A’s and two ‘B’s. His math grade was an ‘A’.

“Brian, this is the first ‘A’ in math I’ve ever gotten!” Chris said jubilantly.

I grinned back. “Cool! Glad I could help!”

“Woo Hoo! Wait’ll mom sees this. She’s gonna shit!”

In my best Kathlene imitation, I said, “Christopher Michael!”

Chris’ grin just widened.

“How did you do, Brian?”

Shrugging, I said, "“I know I passed. The report card went down to my house.”

As Chris pulled out a couple glasses, I wondered if it would be worth the effort and heartache to go get it. He poured us some orange juice as I pondered the situation. He sat down across from me at the table and took a sip. I just stared at my glass for a few moments, unable to come to a decision.

Chris asked, “Do you want to go down and get it? Do you want me to go get it?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I know I passed, so that’s enough.”

“Yeah, but don’t you want to know how you did?”

“Yeah, but not if it means having to face mom or dad.”

“I doubt they’re home yet. You want to run over?”

“Sure. Let me get changed.”

The doorbell rang as I climbed the stairs to my room. It was most likely Patrick wanting to hang out. I quickly shucked my customary jeans and pulled on some running shorts. Even though the weather wasn’t that warm, I still liked the freedom the running shorts gave me.

“Uh, Brian?” Chris called.

“Yeah?” I responded.

“You have someone here to see you.”

I raced out of my room, clad only in running shorts, carrying a t-shirt and some socks.

“Who is it?” I asked as I came down the stairs.

Chris didn’t reply. When I hit the floor, I saw the last thing I expected.

My parents had come to visit.

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