.jpg)
On the Banks of
Big Beaver Creek, Pinoan Indian Reservation
Approaching sleep had begun to blur images of
the two of us skinny dipping in the creek until a familiar voice, thick with
alcohol, came out of the darkness.
“Hey, where the fuck are you pansies?”
I lay in my bedroll feigning sleep as a
familiar figure staggered out of the dark forest and wove its uncertain way
across the moonlit clearing, bringing the sharp, tangy smell of beer along with
it.
“How you girls doing?” The man tripped over
his own feet and almost stumbled into the little lean-to we’d built.
“We ain’t girls. And be quiet,” my companion
said in a hushed voice. “You’ll wake him up.”
“Fuck him. Let’m sleep. You’n me’s gonna get
it on.”
My heart thudding wildly, I opened my eyes a
squint and saw the man snatch the blanket off my friend.
“Don’t! He might wake up. Please, not with
him here.”
“Shit, he’s not dumb. He knows what you are.
Hell, you probably had his cock, too.”
The man swayed as he stripped off his shirt
and dropped his pants. He wasn’t wearing shorts, and his thing jutted out in
front of him as if reaching for the stars before he knelt astride my friend.
The man shoved his hips forward and almost fell. He was sweating, although the
night was cool.
“That’s it. Suck my cock like a good little
pussy.” He hunched his powerful hips. Soon, he was panting and groaning like he
was about to get it, but then he pulled out, threw the long legs atop his
shoulders and prodded the exposed crack. He shoved hard and then rocked forward
so his butt rode high in the air. His naked cheeks dimpled in the moonlight as
he thrust in and out of the smooth buns. He mumbled and picked up speed – and
urgency.
At last, he gave a lunge and reared up until
his head struck the top of the lean-to. “Take it, you fairy. Take my cum, you
fucking queer. Ungh!” Panting from his exertions and the force of his
ejaculation, he snarled, “You like that, don’t you, faggot? You like my big
cock up your ass better’n his little prick, I’ll bet.”
“Please don’t wake him. We didn’t do
anything.”
His seed spent, the man jerked out and stood,
his long cock sagging like a piece of bark peeling from a tree trunk. “I oughta
make you lick it clean.”
Instead, he picked up his clothes and reeled
away, pausing to cleanse himself in the creek before stumbling noisily down the
path. When he was gone, the night grew quiet – unnaturally so. The nocturnal
creatures had gone silent. A quarter moon hid behind a bank of clouds. Even Big
Beaver, normally a noisy stream, seemed muted. The scent of honeysuckle wafted
in on a silent breeze. The odor was so thick I could almost taste it.
I watched, fascinated by the silhouette of my
companion’s dick pulsing above his stomach, bobbing down onto his belly, and
then rearing back up again. It was almost as big as the man’s had been.
“You awake?” The whisper was barely audible.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t even breathe. My
thing throbbed against my britches so hard it hurt, but I didn’t dare move.
CHAPTER 1
The Native American Settlement of Rolling
Hills
“Wilam!” Matthew called from the sidelines.
I waved him off and got set as the pitcher
sent a fastball over the plate. Hitchcock, a chubbo whose belly moved slower
than his hips, whipped thin air – with the bat and the belly. I rolled my
shoulders and pounded the glove with a fist to loosen up, hoping my brother
would go away. I didn’t get a chance to play ball with the other guys very
often, and I didn’t want to be pulled off the field. Besides, I’d really come
down to the tribal rec center to find James, but he wasn’t around. I planned to
go looking for him pretty soon.
“William Greyhorse!” Matthew yelled. “Hey,
man, you need to get your butt home.”
“Not now.”
“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. The
old man’s on a rip-snorter, and he sent me to get you.”
I spotted the kid whose glove I’d borrowed
and motioned him over. Then I ran to catch up with my brother and fell into
step beside him, which wasn’t easy. Matthew’d turned twenty-one this summer.
Now he could get into the bars over in Mapleton without sneaking around, but it
also meant he stood six-one and had legs to match. They ate up the ground a lot
faster than mine. I was a little better than five-nine but considerably short
of five-ten. I’d already accepted the fact I was the runt of the family. My dad
was an even six feet. Something I’d never match.
“What’s going on?” I was panting because he
hadn’t shortened his stride for me like he usually did. A bad sign.
“We’re leaving.”
“What do you mean?” I asked between gasps.
“Just that. We’re leaving. Got almost
everything packed. We’re pulling out soon’s we get home.”
“Why? What happened?”
I asked the question from long experience.
This wouldn’t be the first time my dad – or my mom, for that matter – got drunk
and pulled something so bad we had to pick up and leave. We’d already moved
half a dozen times, always ending up back on the reservation after a period of
exile. That’s why I was eighteen and still had another year to go in high
school. Or that’s what I told myself, anyway. I think it was probably true.
“Old man got in a fight last night … or maybe
it was this morning. Cut up Brewster Whitetail pretty bad.”
“Drunk?”
Matthew’s laugh was almost a snarl. “Both of
them.”
“Kill him?”
“No, but it's bad.”
“Where’d it happen?”
“Not on the rez, thank God. Else the FBI’d
chase us all over hell and gone.”
“How come the cops didn’t pick him up?”
“Him and his buddies were partying out in the
boondocks somewhere. He hightailed it home while the others took Brewster to
the hospital. The cops’ll be along soon enough. That’s why he’s in a hurry.”
“Where’re we going?”
“Dunno. He got some money from Uncle Dulce.
Said something about New Mexico.”
Our place was a rundown affair sitting right
at the eastern edge of the little settlement of Rolling Hills. The big barn
behind it was usually empty except for junk. Now, our twenty-year-old pickup
was hidden in the middle of it, half loaded with our belongings. The truck had
been black once, but the Bondo smeared all over it rendered the vehicle
two-toned. Black and gray usually looked pretty good together, but not on a
beat-up Dodge half-ton. The barn already smelled of rubber, gasoline, and
burned motor oil.
Dad lurched out the back door loaded down
with his hunting rifle and fishing tackle. He was sweaty and wild-eyed from his
drinking, but he didn’t seem drunk. Cutting up a man must have sobered him some.
“Where the hell you been?”
“Rec center.” When speaking to my father, I
kept my answers as brief as possible.
“Well, get your ass in gear. We’re out of
here in ten minutes.”
I headed for the room I shared with my
sisters, Nola and little Junie. There wasn’t much I wanted to salvage except
for my carving knives – and my clothes, for all they were worth. Mostly
Matthew’s hand-me-downs cut to size.
My knives were something else. Because I
never knew when Mom would pass out for the day or when Dad would come home mad
dog drunk, I was practically house-bound all summer on account of the girls.
During the school year, I’d rush home as soon as class was over. I whittled to
keep busy while I was stuck at home. Got pretty good at it, too. I made all the
toys the girls ever had, including their dolls.
The last couple of Christmases I’d even sold
a few carvings. I put the little money I made right back into better knives.
Mom said it was a waste of good money buying up different carving knives, but
if it was, it was the only wasting I ever did. I never bought candy or soda pop
like the other guys. Sometimes, I got sweets for Nola and little Junie with
money I made from doing quick chores around town or selling a carving.
I liked to whittle animals mostly, but I did
a head of Nola once that looked pretty much like her. Or at least the way she
looked when I carved it a couple of years back. Never been able to capture
little Junie, though. It always came out bland like a baby’s face. Nola said
that’s because Junie had a bland baby’s face, even if she was walking around
and jabbering hard enough to raise a dust devil.
I passed Mom in the living room. She was
folding some sheets and towels and looked sober. Tired but sober. Her cheeks
were sorta mashed in – you know, sunken. She’d been over at Uncle Dulce’s and
Aunt Aurora’s last night, and she usually didn’t drink around her youngest
sister’s family. They were born-again people. That was why I’d been able to get
away for a ball game down at the rec center this morning.
Nola, thirteen and big enough to know what
was going on, seemed scared. Little Junie wasn’t yet three, and she just looked
excited. Of course, every day was an adventure to her. She was a happy baby
except when my dad was in the house raising hell.
“Wilam!” she yelled when I came through the
door. She called me that because she couldn’t pronounce William when she first
started talking. The rest of the family fell into the habit of using that
label, and pretty soon I was Wilam to the whole reservation. I patted Junie on
the head and gave her a kiss on the cheek before rushing to our room and
slinging my things into plastic grocery bags.
We abandoned all of the furniture; it was
mostly junk, anyway. That left enough room in the bed of the pickup for the
girls and me. Matthew kicked over the motor and made straight for the Mini-Mart
at the south end of the reservation for gas and food to take on the road. Dad
and Mom went inside while he filled the tank and a couple of Jerry cans.
I bailed out of the bed of the pickup when I
spotted James walking down the road on those long legs of his. I knew he’d seen
me, but he veered off around behind the store. I found him sitting at a little
picnic table they put back there for customers.
“I heard,” he said.
“Yeah, looks like the Greyhorse family’s off
and running again. Man, I get tired of it. I wish we'd just settle down
somewhere.”
He didn’t have an answer for my wishes, so we
went quiet. Loblolly pines flooded the clearing with the sharp smell of resin.
Somewhere a woodpecker tapped out a message only he understood. It got a little
awkward after a minute. I put it down to the way our camping trip had ended.
When I woke up the next morning, he’d been asleep, so I went down to the creek
to wash up. By the time I came back, he’d cleared out. Truth be told, I was a
little relieved at the time, but James was a friend from way back, and we
needed to fix things.
“I’ve been looking for you. Why’ve you been
so scarce?” I asked.
“Me? I’ve been around.”
“I usually see you every day. It’s been three
days since we camped out on the Beaver. How come you haven’t been around?”
“Busy.” He blew it off.
“Where’d you disappear to that morning?”
“Had things to do. Thought you went on home,
anyway.”
“You knew I didn’t. My blankets were still
there. I just went to clean up in the creek.”
He shrugged. I sat down on the table across
from him. Finally, he said something I didn’t catch.
“What?” I looked over at him. He had on his
usual blue jeans, gray muscle shirt, and home-stitched buckskin moccasins. He’d
worn those moccasins ever since his feet quit growing. He looked good. That
thought was off and running before I could grab hold and pull it back.
“You was awake, wasn’t you?”
“What do you mean?” I played dumb.
He looked at me funny, but I guess he
accepted my lie. “I wish you had been. Awake, I mean. It’d be easier.”
“What’d be easier?”
“Letting you know how I feel ... about you.”
“I know how you feel. We’re friends. We’re
about the only friends each other has.”
“Yeah. I guess.” His fingertip traced a set
of initials carved into the rough oak table. “We’re both loners.”
“Just a couple of oddballs.” Why the hell had
I said that?
“You’re just different because you act like
the man of the family and take care of your sisters” There was bitterness in
his voice. “Me, I’m a certified oddball.”
“That’s trash talk, James.”
“Okay, here’s some more. I wish it had been
you the other night. I’ve been wanting to do it with you for a long time, but I
was scared to let you know.” His voice faltered. “Every … every other guy on
the rez who don’t have a girl for the night comes knocking, and I do whatever
they want. I do it even when I don’t like them. You never came around like
that, so I just kept my mouth shut, afraid of chasing off my best friend.”
I sat there with my mouth open and my cheeks
flaming.
He fixed me with dark, haunted eyes. “Go
ahead, say it.”
“S … say what?” I stuttered.
“Whatever you’re thinking. Call me a queer or
a faggot. Tell me you don’t want anything to do with me anymore. Or tell me
it’s okay, and we’re still friends. Or tell me you’ve been wanting us to do it,
too.”
“Why’re you saying this to me?” I swatted at
a wasp buzzing around my head. It circled once more and then flew away.
He shrugged and glanced off into the trees
over my shoulder. “Because ... because I like you. I thought you liked me, too.”
My face felt hot. “I do, you know that. But …
but ….”
“Yeah, but not like that.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I do. Or could. But we’re
leaving. Going away. Probably forever.”
“No, you’ll comeback someday. I know you’re
leaving for right now. I wouldn’t of got up the nerve to tell you if you
wasn't.” He looked at me again. “You’re taking off in a few minutes, so I can’t
chase you away. I can say anything I want.”
“Okay. Now that’s out of the way, is there
anything else?” Where’d that stupid question come from?
“Just that you’re the best-looking guy
around. That your’re fun and a good friend. That I want to touch you and do
things with you.” He shut up for a moment while he studied those initials
enshrined in the picnic table. “That’s all there is, except ….” He swallowed
hard. “Well, except to say I’ll wait for you if you ask me to. I won’t get with
anyone else as long as I know you’re coming back for me someday. I can do it. I
know I can.”
A shiver went down my back, and my thing
started to get stiff in my pants. I couldn’t get my voice past my throat.
His puppy dog look changed to one of anguish.
He dropped his gaze to the table again. “That’s okay, I understand. I gotta let
you know something, Wilam. No matter what happens, I gotta say it.” He lifted
his head and met my eyes. “I love you, man.”
I’d have said something to that, all right,
but I don’t know what because right then Matthew poked his head around the
building. My brother’s glance swept James and then fixed on me.
“Come on, Pissant. The old man’s ready to go.”
I shoved both hands deep into my pockets and
turned to walk away. At the corner, I glanced over my shoulder. James looked
like a guy facing the gallows. In a way, maybe he was. We were a band without a
tradition of respect for Two Spirits like some tribes had. I guess we acted more
like white folks when it came to people who were different. You know, gays they
called them when they wanted to be polite. Queers, when they didn’t.
My heart gave a sudden lurch. It was almost
like I was abandoning him, leaving him alone and exposed to all the predators
who cursed him by day and sought him out by night. With a lump in my throat, I
rushed to help little Junie into the bed of the pickup, breaking the invisible
tether that connected us.
No comments:
Post a Comment