Chapter 1
Why, you might ask, was I walking down a dead end road in the middle of nowhere? Well it’s a long story, but I have time on my hands, so lets have a shot at it. Oh, I forgot something. My name is Joseph Men, but everyone calls me Joe. I am 13, almost 14 years old. This story starts a year ago…
"Hey Tim, wait up!! I wanted to ask you something." He turned and I jogged up to him and said, "Want to come over and camp out with me in my back yard?"
"I guess."
"Great! I’ll see you after dinner tonight! Come over anytime after 6."
Let me tell you something about Tim. He was a year older than me, and was so beautiful with his blond hair and blue eyes. He was slim, almost elfin. Oh yeah, I forgot. In case that didn’t do it, I want to set the record straight: I am gay. Herein lies the problem.
Tim was not only my friend, but was the boy that I wanted as my lover! I had been giving him blowjobs for several months now, and he always seemed to like them, but he would never return the favor in any way. Well, this night he was very abusive with me, and called me all kinds of horrible things. I was in tears as he called me a cock-sucking faggot, and slapped me.
He just laughed, rolled over, and went to sleep. In the morning when I woke up he had already gone home. I felt so bad and so used. I loved Tim, and he was just using me, but I did not care. I needed him; he was like a drug to me.
And like most drugs, he was addictive. Everyone has that first crush in their lives. When your hormones are kicking in. And emotions you have never felt before seem to overwhelm you they are so strong. That is how I felt about Tim, I loved him like I had never loved anyone.
Later that morning I went over his house to see if he wanted to play. He answered the door but blocked me from coming in. He said, "You little cock sucker! You make me sick, and I don’t need you anymore! I’ve got a girl to do me now."
I was crushed. "I am going to tell the whole world what you did, and that you are a cock sucking faggot." When he said those horrible things I began to cry. I begged and pleaded with him not to do it, but the more I begged, the better time he seemed to be having. Finally even I could see that he was enjoying hurting me and I turned and left. I could hardly see where I was going I was crying so hard. When I got home I just curled up in bed and cried myself to sleep. I did not even get up for supper. I just slept right through till morning.
It has taken me years to figure out what so attracted me to Tim. You see, he was everything I thought I wanted to be. He was very confident and popular with all the in crowd. And here is the hard part. He treated me badly just like my dad. He called me names and degraded me and hit me. No matter how much I tried to please him he just treated me with contempt. I was looking for love but all I was doing in the end was recreating what I had at home. I was like the puppy that is kicked so much that it thinks being kicked is normal. So I was only happy when I was in that situation.
When I got up the next morning, I went to see if the guys were playing baseball (you see I am a good athlete and excel at sports). When I got there, what Tim had said came rushing back. I could tell immediately that he had told them; no one would even look me in the eye. I played, but nobody would talk to me or get close to me. It was like I had leprosy. I was glad when the game ended. I went home without anyone saying even one word to me. I started to cry because I knew that things would probably never be the same again with them.
It was so hot that August, but I spent the next 2 weeks in my room, just reading, trying to escape from what was happing to me. One day when it was well over 100 degrees outside, I could not stand it anymore. I got my glove and bat and went to the baseball field to see if the guys were playing, and to see if they would let me play. Well, they were playing, and they let me play, but it was the same old crap. Nobody wanted anything to do with me, and again, I was glad when the game ended. I just sat in the shade on the edge of the field lost in thought as one by one, all the boys left, leaving me alone.
After a few minutes I heard some older boys, seniors from the high school, laughing and talking. There were five of them, and I knew I was in trouble as I heard one of them say, "There is the little cock sucker!" I had left my bat up by home plate and one of them picked it up and threw it at me. I ducked, but it hit me in the side, and they were on me. They took turns beating on me, all 5 of them, and let's just say by the end I was on the ground and could not get up. Thankfully I don’t remember much after the first blows struck me.
The next clear memory I have is of me lying on the ground hurting so bad I could hardly move. As they left, one of them kicked me one final time in the side. They walked away laughing and joking like they were proud of themselves. It took me several minutes to get up off the ground. I hurt all over. I was dizzy and my right eye was almost swollen shut. When I tried to stand, I felt sick to my stomach. I tried to throw up, but all I did was dry heave. It hurt my ribs so bad I thought I was going to die.
I started to make my way home, half walking, half crawling, sobbing and trying to stop because it hurt so much. My next clear memory was of one of my neighbors, an "adult," just looking at me, not even offering to help. Fortunately for me my house was not far from the field where I had been beaten up, and I made it home eventually with no help from anyone.
So I just crawled into bed and cried myself to sleep. The next thing I heard was my mother calling me to supper. But when I tried to get out of bed, my ribs hurt so bad I could not get up. My mom came in and said, "What’s wrong, honey?" I just cried and told her that my ribs hurt bad, and that I got beat up. She asked me who did it. I would not tell her, and she got really mad with me, saying she would find out in the morning herself, then. She checked me out, saying since I would not tell her what happened, I did not need supper, and left the room. After that I feel back to sleep and did not wake till late the next morning.
My relationship with my father was one of fear, fear that I might say the wrong thing and set him off. Or be in the wrong place when something went wrong. I lived in fear of getting beaten, but you know something? The beatings hurt less in the long run than the emotional abuse and verbal abuse. You only have to be told so many times as a child that you are stupid, that you cannot do anything right before you believe it. So my fear of my father finding out that I was gay was well founded. At the very least I was looking at a severe beating. And my mother? Well, she was there, but you saw how sympathetic she was about my getting beaten up, huh? She wasn't exactly warm and cuddly. I was just another part of her house. To be ignored and every now and then dusted off and checked on to see if it was still ok.
It was Saturday morning. I could hear Mom and Dad arguing in the living room about something. When I fully woke up, I realized that they were arguing over me, and I began to cry. I realized that Mom most have found out why I got beat up, and she was telling Dad about it. I mean, it was not hard to figure out with the rumors all over the neighborhood by now. I knew I was dead as my Dad hated gays and was a devout Catholic. This was almost funny considering some of the things he had done to me over the years. I could not believe she was telling him since she knew how bad his temper was, and that he would soon be adding to my bruises. I knew from bitter experience that you did not make my Dad mad, or you would pay for it. Then I heard the words I had dreaded since I heard her tell him.
"He is a faggot. He’s not my son anymore." I knew that I had to get out of the house and quick or he would beat me up worse than the 5 teenagers had. I gathered up what I could in my pillowcase, and crawled out my bedroom window. The only other thing that I took besides my clothes and allowance money was the copy of "Peeps Magazine" that I had been reading. I was grasping at straws, as I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. As I turned to go I took one last look into my bedroom and my old life and walked away.
I hid my pillowcase in the woods, walked up to the little gas station on the highway, and bought a map, a coke, and a sandwich, as I had not eaten since the day before. I took the stuff and walked back to the woods, deep in thought. What was I going to do? I felt so lost and alone.
I had taken the Peeps Magazine with me because I remember reading about a town where gay people like me could live, and not be afraid of being hurt. But even I at my age, I knew that getting there on what little money I had was going to be next to impossible. One thing I knew for sure though: I had to put some distance between myself and my father right now, or I was going to be hurt worse. So I went and got my pillowcase, threw it over my shoulder, and started walking down the road towards the city.
I was crying as I walked down the road. I had my pillowcase over my shoulder and every time it shifted I felt a sharp pain in my ribs. I felt so lost and unloved. Just putting my feet one in front of the other was taking a great deal of effort. I had decided to take the back roads as would be to easy to be caught on the main roads. As I started off that hot August afternoon I remember wondering what would become of me. It did not take me long to realize with my ribs in such bad shape I would not be able to carry this pillowcase very far at all. So I sat under this huge oak tree and tried to figure out how to carry what I needed. Deciding to inventory what I had with me, I emptied it out on the ground. Well there was my map and the copy of Peeps Magazine with the article on Baysville. I also had a change of underwear, socks, a clean shirt and pair of shorts to go along with the jeans I was wearing. I also had $25.00 in allowance money, my scout knife, a new notebook my Mom had bought for school, and a pen.
Even to me it did not seem like a lot to be going cross country with. I was not stupid I knew I would not make it without getting more money. I also knew what I would probably have to do to get that money. But I was not going back, I could not. My dad would just finish off what those high school jerks started. As I sat there I spotted a strong slender stick near where I was sitting and I picked it up. I remembered that hobos used to use poles like this and tie their belongings at the end of the stick making it easier to carry. So that is what I did and not only was it easier but now I had something that I could use as a weapon if I needed it.
And then my trip towards my new life was almost over. I had almost made it. The road I was on right now was almost to Baysville.
I am not going to tell you what I did to get to this dead end road. Let's just say I will have nightmares for a long time about it. I was almost to Baysville; according the map I only had about another mile to go. It was a good thing, as I could hardly walk. I was so hungry and my feet hurt so much.
Dreams are funny things. All I had thought of was getting here, and I did not have a clue what I was going to do when I arrived. All of the sudden I saw the sign for Baysville, and it all hit me. What was I going to do? How was I going to survive? I just broke down and cried. I was crying so hard I could not stand. I just leaned against the sign and slid down on my butt.
It was a warm summer day, and the sign was welcome shade, but what was I going to do? I will just rest here for a moment, I thought to myself, and then go into town.
When I opened my eyes again I was laying in a bed in one of those hospital gowns and nothing else! You know the kind I am talking about that hide very little. That’s when I noticed that I had an IV in my arm, and that I hurt when I moved my hand too much. I looked around and saw that I was in a regular bed and the room looked more like it belonged in a house than a hospital. This only confused me more, and I began to be scared. I couldn't imagine where was I and why was I here. Then I tried to get up out of bed and discovered that I was so weak that I could barely lift my head, and then I got really scared. I tried to shout, "Is anyone there?" but it came out more like a whisper, because my throat was so sore.
Then I heard footsteps coming towards the door.
© 2001, Joseph Men