We're Working On It
W
E’RE
W
ORKING
O
N
I
T
B
Y
R
ICHARD
N
ORWAY
We’re Working On It
Copyright © 2012 by Richard Norway
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
www.theramblingwriter.com
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012904610
Cover design by Richard Norway
EBook Conversion by NDC at jiffjaff.co.uk
Dedication
This book is dedicated to all people everywhere, young and old, who have suffered under the abuse and violence of homophobia. Your courage to be who you are will make you whole and fulfill you. This book is also dedicated to a few special people in my life. The one person that kept me going in trying write is Jeremiah Rae Allen. This book is also dedicated to him.
Chapters
One - The Hitchhiker
Two - The Realization
Three - The Chance Taken
Four - The Doctor
Five - The New Home
Six - The Mall
Seven - The New School
Eight - The New Friend
Nine - The Questions
Ten - The Revelation
Eleven - The Birthday Party
Twelve - The Showers
Thirteen - The Attack
Fourteen - The Coming Out
Fifteen - The Taking
Sixteen - The Remorse
Seventeen - The Truth
Acknowledgements
I must acknowledge Mr. David R. Stocum who has spent many hours of reading, re-reading and then re-reading again my many drafts of this novel. His insight into what makes a story work has been invaluable to me.
I must also acknowledge Mr. Colin Kelly for his many edits in keeping my story on track and my grammar straight.
One
The Hitchhiker
It all started that sullen black evening in October of 2000 when he left his office in a bad mood. Somewhere around 10:00 PM, Richard drove out of the parking lot of his business complex in search of the interstate highway to take him home. It was dark, and it had been raining for hours. He kept thinking about his life, and at 50, where it had been and where it was going.
Mid-life crisis? Possibly. He didn’t know. All he knew that night was that he wasn’t as happy as he should have been. His business had grown to where he no longer felt in control; he was left out in the cold and his business didn’t need him anymore. It had grown up and was self-perpetuating.
Just as his entrance to the interstate approached out of the rain and darkness, a figure under the streetlight came into his view. He couldn’t tell if it was male or female, old or young, but just by the way this person was standing and by his appearance, Richard sensed that something was wrong. He was sure that his mood that night was transferring to that person. He didn’t like whoever it was.
He turned on the car’s right turn indicator and slowed to make the turn onto the interstate. Again he looked up, and just in that instant realized that the person had seen him and was putting its hand out in the familiar sign of a hitch hiker. Richard did not pick up hitchhikers, ever!
As he started to turn, he saw that it was a ‘he,’ a young male. His shoulders were drooped, his head bowed and Richard sensed that the boy’s pain might have been greater than his own that night.
Richard hadn’t made a decision about his life in years. He didn’t understand why, he had no reason for doing it, but he braked hard, spun the wheel to the right and stopped the car 50 feet beyond the figure in the rain. He looked in the rear view mirror and saw the boy pick up a sports bag and start running toward the car. The boy stopped running about 20 feet from the car and slowed as he approached the passenger side window.
He lowered the window slightly just as the boy leaned over and asked through the opening,
“How far are you going?”
“I’m going south for about 20 miles and then I get off the interstate to go home.” “That’s okay,” the boy spoke softly with no emotion. “Can you take me as far as you’re going?”
“I suppose I can. Hop in and get out of the rain”
“Can I put my bag in the back seat?”
“Sure.”
Richard unlocked the rear door and the boy threw his bag onto the seat as it was too large to fit on the floor in front with the boy. They both noticed that the rainwater began dripping from the bag onto the seat at about the same time. Richard looked up just as the boy said,
“Sorry, I can put this in the trunk if you’d like.”
Richard shook his head. He was not about to get out in the rain to open the trunk.
“No. That’s OK. Just get in the car and out of the rain,” he almost scolded him.
The boy slid onto the front seat and closed the door behind him.
Richard looked at the boy for a moment and then looking over his left shoulder to see if the coast was clear, pulled the car onto the entrance ramp and began the journey south.
The boy was silent. He sat without emotion, looking down at the floor as water dripped from his head onto his lap. The boy looked cold and Richard sensed that he was frightened. He wondered if the boy was afraid of him or of maybe his own life in general. He wanted to at least lighten the mood and make casual conversation, although he kept asking himself what in the hell he was doing picking up this hitchhiker.
“How far are you going?” Richard asked in a calm tone, trying to ease the tensions in the boy.
“Just south.”
Silence followed.
Something wasn’t right. The boy was too quiet. Without knowing why, he had the sense that if he tried to talk to this youth, he would be treading on some grief deep inside of the boy. He didn’t know for sure what was in the boy’s head, so he decided to remain quiet.
“I’m sorry,” the boy said after the long silence. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“That’s OK.”
Richard didn’t try to talk to him after that, and the boy didn’t offer any words of conversation either. He kept wondering why he’d picked him up in the first place. The boy was obviously a teenager, and as he was 50 years old, he knew that he had nothing in common with this kid, so he remained silent hoping that the boy would soon be leaving. But than the realization came to him that when he left him on the street, the kid would be out in the rain again in the same condition that he’d been in when he was picked up.
“Do you know how far Toledo is from here?” the boy suddenly asked.
Richard enjoyed the break in their silence but not wanting to become too involved with this boy, reluctantly answered.
“It’s about an hour away.”
Then Richard’s curiosity started to overcome his reluctance. He wondered if the boy lived in Toledo.
“Any particular place in Toledo you’re headed?” Richard asked.
“No. I just want to head south, maybe to Florida.”
Richard eyed the boy. ‘Why was he telling me that he was headed for Toledo then?’ he wondered. Then he wondered if the boy knew exactly where he did want to go.
”Long way to be hitchhiking,” Richard questioned.
“You don’t happen to have a map do you?”
“Yeah, there’s one in the glove box.” He was trying to keep his answers short. This was not his ‘best friend’ sitting next to him after all.
A light flooded the car’s interior as the boy opened the glove box, illuminating his face for the first time. He was indeed a teenager, about 15 or 16 years old, Richard guessed. His hair was dark in color. Richard wondered how much of that was due to the rain, and what color it would be when it was dry. Then he had to ask himself why he even cared what color his hair was.
The boy pulled out the map and opened it. It was a Michigan map that showed the route to Toledo and than the map ended, only showing the world according to Michiganders.
Richard turned on the overhead light so the boy could better see the map. “Thanks,” the boy said. The word had a slight upward inflection to it. Maybe the boy’s fears were taking a hiatus, settling him, calming him if even slightly, Richard thought.
The boy reached over and pulled another map out of the glove box and opened it. This one was of the entire United States. The boy studied the map for a moment and than put his hand to his face and held it there. The magnitude of the journey before him began to cripple the boy’s thoughts. He rubbed his eyes slowly, and a quiet sigh of hopelessness come out of him.
Then Richard looked...and saw.
The boy was crying. Those weren’t rain drops on his cheeks, those were tears. The fears in the boy had now appeared to return or had not really diminished at all. The face of anguish was still on the boy, and now appeared to be growing as Richard heard a slight sniffle from the right side of the car.
The boy looked toward Richard, saw that he had noticed him crying, and quickly turned out the overhead light and, in an attempt to hide his tears, turned and started focusing on the side window. Silence for a moment was followed by that recurring sound of a sniffle.
Richard couldn’t speak for a moment, silently thinking about the trouble sitting next to him. He didn’t want to get involved anymore than he already had, but something inside of Richard’s past kept his interest in this teenager. His mind kept telling him to leave it alone, don’t get involved. He knew that he couldn’t take a chance, his life was too stable. He could just float the rest of his life away without caring. But something else reared up. He had to know. He finally had to ask.
“Is everything all right?”
The boy didn’t answer as he continued his attention on the window. The world outside was lost to him, but the boy didn’t care. His world was himself.
Again, Richard asked the question.
“Are you Okay?”
After a long silence, the boy left his outside world and rejoined Richard in the world within the car. He turned to face toward Richard, and in a soft voice said, “Yeah, it’s OK, don’t worry. I’ll be all right.”
That’s when Richard saw the blood.
The boy’s right cheek, high up on the bone, was cut open and a small amount of blood was still dripping downward. Realizing that he had exposed the right side of his face, and all that that could reveal to the man next to him, the boy put his hand up to his cheek and turned away
“What happened to your cheek?” Richard asked, more forcefully than he had intended.
Sensing the boy’s embarrassment, he immediately knew that he shouldn’t have asked that question. He was getting too familiar with him, which is something he wanted to avoid.
The boy remained quiet, his eyes fixed to the window.
Richard drove the car quietly for another mile, but then reached over to the rear seat and grabbed a towel he had used for coffee spills and held it out to the boy. It was slightly damp from the rainwater dripping from the boy’s sports bag which would help.
The boy took the towel and very gently held it to his face. After a moment, he lowered his head into the towel, the sniffles growing to the beginning levels of a cry.
Richard remained silent as he alternately watched the boy and the roadway ahead. He began asking himself what in the world he had gotten himself into. Trouble seemed to be in the car with him that night.
As the sobs began to lessen, the boy looked at Richard.
“Mister, I’m sorry. I just can’t seem to help it.”
Sorrow began to find its way into Richard. Although few words had been spoken, just by the way the boy said his words, by the politeness in his tone and the voice inflections he used, Richard instinctively knew that this was not a bad kid, and, a kid who was in trouble. Richard’s uncaring world showed the first sign of a hairline crack.
“Do you want me to take you home?” Richard asked thinking it was the least he could do.
“No, that’s okay.”
“Are you sure?” The boy shook his head slowly, and then said, “I can’t go home.”