Back to Part 28

It’s fitting that this last commentary falls on Bastille Day, and it has everything to do with the story Jon tells Furball. That’s a true story, by the way, of the guitar player who sat down to keep Jon company, except substitute me with Jon. This event took place almost exactly nine years ago, at Drury Leadership Academy in Springfield, MO. The reasons are almost exactly the same as well. I was hiding, and the guy wandered in to my room, sat down, and started playing guitar. Word for word, that’s exactly what he said to me, and it so profoundly changed the way I interact with people, it makes me tell the story over and over again.

Bastille Day always makes me think of DLA, and it’s little sibling, SummerScape, because of a camp tradition. Starting about a week before July 14, during lunch, a girl, or collection of girls, stands up on a chair and belts out, “HEY EVERYBODY! GUESS WHAT DAY IT IS? It’s the day before the day before the day before the day before the day before the day before Bastille Day! ALL RIGHT!” And then they sit down (for the full effect, pronounce ‘Bastille’ as an American would, not a francophone). By day six, as you could imagine, most people are more concerned with eating than what day it is, but it’s still a fine tradition. As for Bastille Day, I don’t know why it was chosen, but there you go. Tradition.

SummerScape and DLA were both places that encouraged me to embrace my nerdiness. Keep in mind, I started going in 1997, back when most people got on the Internet via AOL, and geek chic were not too words usually put together. In other words, it still wasn’t cool being a nerd back then. Except for at camp, where I met nerds that were also future rock stars, artists, writers, the general spaz and the cool kid. SummerScape and DLA had such a broad range of people that it helped me realize liking computers wasn’t a bad thing, nor was drawing and talking about all these talking aminals (not as as big a deal in 1997 as it tends to be now). And I made some lasting friends from camp, too. Which is really the best part.

Anyways. The story’s over. Next week is the beginning of Boat Story, something entirely different, and yet so, so familiar.

So there it is. 29 weeks later, and it’s over. It’s a weird feeling, doing something for more than half a year, and finishing it. All the same, I’m glad I did it, and I hope everyone enjoyed getting the know the characters and much as I did sharing them.

As always, any questions and/or comments are totally welcome.

ONE MORE THING! If you enjoyed this story, it would mean a lot to me if you could take a moment of your time and write a review over at the Web Fiction Guide. Registration is free, and it only takes a moment. Thanks!

[g]

Back to Part 28

Back to Part 28

Furball didn’t want to admit he was looking for Jon at first, because, well, he didn’t. But the others were happy to let him know that Jon had found his way into the basement. Furball padded down the steps, trying not to alert Jon to himself. Jon wasn’t really paying attention. Like Furball had done so many times before, Jon curled up on the couch, staring at the TV. He couldn’t tell if Jon was asleep or not. He crept over to the couch and sat down quietly, folding his legs in front of him. He knew Jon was aware of him, but he didn’t open his eyes. Furball sat quietly and waited.

Finally, after what seemed like a long, silent debate, Jon opened his eyes. He drew back a little.

“Hi,” Furball said. Jon smiled a little.

“I wasn’t expecting you.” His smiled faded. He lowered his eyes, avoiding Furball.

“How are you feeling?” Furball asked. It was becoming the group’s ‘hello.’

“Pretty crappy.”

“Yeah…” He waited for a response and got none. He shrugged and leaned against the couch. He didn’t mind that Jon didn’t want to talk, but he didn’t want to leave him.

It took Furball awhile to realize the TV was actually on; Jon had muted it and never bothered to unmute it. Which, really, was for the best. The TV lobbied its usual fare of flashback episodes and very special reunions, and there seemed to be a competition over who could get their Christmas movie on the air first. It was a time of formulaic writing and cliches. Furball smiled a little. Jon had been the wonderful cliché, though Furball was sure, given the chance, Jon would have gotten home as soon as he could have made it.

“What happened to your wrist?” Jon studied Furball carefully.

Ty insisted that Furball bandage his wrist, to keep germs out. Furball was beginning to suspect it was a reminder meant for him. “It’s nothing.”

“I guess you’re getting there now, huh?”

“Where?”

“To that point. The one where everything seems hopeless and contrived.”

The calico thought a moment. “I guess…”

“What’s the bandage for?”

“I was feeling really bad last week and I decided to stay home and…” He stopped.

Jon gave an interested ‘hmm.’ “You’re gettng there.”

“It was stupid. It’s not going to happen again.”

Jon nodded. “I guess they told you about me?”

Furball nodded.

That seemed to make Jon smile, if only a little. “They’re storytellers. It’s true, by the way. I’m glad I could be an example.” He rolled on his back and draped his arm across his eyes.

Furball sat back and waited. When Jon turned back, he seemed surprised that Furball was still sitting there.

“We really don’t know each other too well, do we?”

“No. You kind of left before we could.”

Jon winced. “Yeah. I kind of did.”

“Why did you?

Jon folded his hands on his chest and let his eyes explore the ceiling. “You know, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I thought she loved me and I thought I loved her, and I was so tired of just sitting in school every day and not really learning anything. I thought I could handle it.”

“You couldn’t?” Furball sat forward.

“I could. And then Jace left. That’s when I came back.”

“Why did she leave?”

Jon sighed painfully. “I dunno. I think she decided I wasn’t worth it anymore.”

The hurt in Jon’s voice stung Furball. He wanted to hug him, but he knew Jon would pull away. He sat and felt helpless, his ears pinned against his head.

“I woke up last week and she was gone. She took everything but my clothes, and left a note saying she wasn’t coming back…”

Furball winced. “I’m sorry.”

Jon shrugged. “I should have seen it coming.”

Furball sighed.

“Are you OK?”

He looked up. Jon was watching him, studying him with his slate eyes. “I’m fine,” Furball said.

Jon didn’t say anything, but Furball suspected the look on Jon’s face meant he didn’t believe him.

“I wish I could help.”

“Help me?”

The calico nodded.

Jon dropped his eyes. “Why?”

“I just do.”

Jon considered this. “This isn’t, like, a Farly thing, is it?”

Furball smiled a little. “A Farly thing?”

“I don’t want to disappoint you or anything, but-”

Furball let out a little laugh. “No! No, it’s not like that. I guess I just want to be a good friend.”

Jon nodded.

“So, how come you let Farly get so close to you and no one else?”

Jon couldn’t hide the fur on his face turning a soft shade of red. “Well… you know…”

Furball smiled. “Yeah.”

Jon shrank into himself, willing the blood in his face to leave. He and Furball sat together, sharing their silence.

“I’m sorry I don’t have more to say,” Furball started. “I’m not very good at conversation.”

Jon tilted his head. He looked at his hands.

“Once, I went to this camp with Bryan and Ty. It was a camp for ‘gifted’ kids, and they totally belonged there. People were happy and excited, and talking about all kinds of things I had no idea existed. They were all really smart. I felt left out, so I spent a lot of time hiding.

“One night, this guy came and found me in my room, and he sat down and started playing guitar. That’s it. Just played. And I said the exact same thing you did, because these people expected that sort of thing.”

Furball sat back and let Jon tell his story. This was more than he had ever heard Jon say. Ever.

“The guy stopped playing, and he looked at me and said, ‘My exgirlfriend wrote me a poem, and it said in it, we may have spent our time together in silence, but at least we spent it together.’

“And that was it. He went back to playing.” He paused and scratched behind his ear. “I’ll never forget that.”

Furball let that sit between them. Jon went back to staring at the ceiling, Furball at the TV.

Jon shifted behind him, standing and stretching. He helped Furball up, and Furball followed Jon up the stairs. They both said their goodbyes, and were met with almost ritualistic hugs, mostly for Furball. Farly caught Jon and trapped him in a tight embrace, and rested his head on Jon’s shoulder for a moment. Furball thought he saw Jon smile a little, but got pulled into Ty before he was sure.

Jon and Furball stepped into the cold November air. Jon started off towards his home, and Furball followed. When Jon looked back, Furball said, “I live this way, too.”

Jon slowed his pace so Furball could catch up. “Did I miss something? I mean, with everybody?”

“No one told you?”

“I guess not.”

Furball explained the week as they walked together, about Bourbon, about the party, about how he had cut himself. Jon listened, neither interrupting nor commenting. Finally, when Furball finished, he said, “You guys have been busy.”

“I guess so. Too much stress, really.”

“Is it over now?”

“Looks that way.”

“Good.”

They stopped in front of Jon’s house. There were fresh tire tracks in the driveway, and the heat from Ms. Davis’s car had made something of an oasis in the snow.

“Will you be OK walking home?”

“Yeah,” Furball said. “I think so.”

Jon turned and began down the walk to his front door. He stopped midway and turned back to Furball. “If you ever need anyone to talk to…”

Furball nodded. “You too.”

Jon nodded and went inside. Furball stood at the driveway, watching as the door closed behind Jon. He felt something in his pocket, small and folded, and he pulled it out. In his hand was a battered piece of paper, folded into a square. He carefully unfolded it, and moved under a street lamp to read it. It read:

To whoever finds this:
I’m sorry.
That’s all I can think of. I’m sorry for every failure, for every person I’ve let down.
I tried as hard as I could. I wanted to make my friends happy, to be something worth-while to my parents.
But I failed again.
So, I’m sorry.
Please don’t feel bad for me.
Everything’s OK now.
I’m better now.

It was signed:

Furball.

Furball shook his head. He read the note over again, then tore it into tiny squares. He smiled a little, feeling newer than he had last week, and he turned back the way he came, walking home, little pieces of paper fluttering to the ground behind him.

[the end]

Back to Part 28

Back to Part 27

At this point, we’re just cleaning up loose ends. Jon got to come home (Bet you didn’t see that coming! Or, you know, you did… cause it was obvious), got to say his peace about being a teenager that messes up, and how his authority figures would react to it. Farly calls him out on the promise he made in Part 21, back when Jon was in the hospital. So, if you’re following along at home, that’s two broken promises by people Farly loves. Horray.

I almost pulled a Stephenie Meyer here with Seattle. Jon came to Seattle before I did, and I knew nothing about the city, other than it was a place I really wanted to go. I mean, this was the city that spurned MTV when MTV brought the Real World here (and MTV threw a hilarious rich-kid brat fit over it: “they’re just jealous no one likes their music anymore.” Well done, MTV). So much like Meyer had never seen or been to Bend, WA, I had never seen or been to Seattle, WA. In Part 4, way back in the first few drafts, Jon went to Vancouver from Seattle by ferry. This is doable, but it’s a long, expensive trip. I had my geography all wrong, so Vancouver got replaced with Bainbridge Island, which makes a lot more sense. Also, I’d like to take this opportunity to point out, it doesn’t so much rain here all the time as it does mostly in the winter, and it’s mostly a fine mist. That’s all well and good for Meyer’s vampires, but summer would be hell here, as it’s bright and sunny for most of the summer. Bend is no different.

Anyways, after a visit and a move, this little detail changed. But this is a great example of how not doing your research can really make you look like an idiot. And typos. And lay versus lie. And so on.

As always, I welcome any questions you might have.

[g]

Back to Part 27

Back to Part 27 – Forward to Part 29

The table cleared as the night wound down, the rest of the group drifting away from the dining room to the kitchen for coffee and pie. Farly stayed, slouched happily across the table from his guest, content and warm, a drowsy smirk on his muzzle. It had been a good night; there had never been so many people at their Thanksgiving dinner before, not even family. Of course, their family didn’t quite speak to them. They seemed to blame TJ for his parents’ death. TJ didn’t really let it show that it got to him, but Farly could tell. TJ got quiet around the holidays.

Ms. Davis was very much welcome at the table, and TJ did everything he could to make her feel at home. While they prepared for dinner, they both talked about their family; hers was out of town, reluctant to travel across the country. TJ shrugged it off, a kind smile to help the thought disappear.

It was nice having Bourbon at the table, too, even if Bourbon was a little skiddish and tired. He was quiet. Farly figured it was because he was never welcomed to dinners like this before.

Bryan didn’t stay. He came to drop off the guest, and then walked home. Ty said the soup kitchen shook him up a bit, but the guest must have canceled it all out. He couldn’t stop smiling. And the guest… well, that was the best part.

Jon looked up from his plate. He took his time eating, although Farly could tell by the way he moved it was because he was tired. Melting snow still dripped from his dreadlocks and his big, heavy ears. He wouldn’t say how long he had been walking, but it had to have been far. Jon blushed when his eyes met Farly’s, and he dropped them again, letting his dreads fall in front of his eyes.

“You took the train all the way back?” Farly asked.

Jon nodded.

“The whole way?”

“All four days.”

“That’s a lot of time.”

Jon put down his fork, and looked more fragile than Farly could stand. He suddenly found other things to be interested in; it only seemed polite.

“It’s what I could get.”

“Are you going back to school?”

Jon shrugged. “Not this semester. I guess I’ll make everything up over the summer.”

Farly nodded.

Jon stared at the food on his plate, but didn’t look interested in finishing it.

“What are you going to tell the school?”

Jon rolled his eyes up, looking out through his dreads. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“Sure it does.” Farly almost choked on his words. He didn’t want to believe Jon was right.

“They’re not going to listen. It doesn’t matter what I learned from this or how much I did, because they won’t care.”

“That’s not-”

“Whatever I say, they can write off, because I’m sixteen and they’re not. It doesn’t matter. They wouldn’t listen to us until some kids in Colorado went to school with automatics, and that only made them scared. They still wouldn’t listen to us, unless it would cover their asses.”

“You’ve been thinking about this a lot,” Farly said, leaning forward and propping his head in his hands.

“Four days.” Jon played with his hands, keeping his eyes on the table.

“So,” Farly said, “why Seattle?”

“Because,” Jon said, still fidgiting, “for a long time, that’s where the music came from. Two bands that destroyed the reign of hairbands, and Hendrix, and The Gits.” He sighed. “Also, I was listening to a lot of Everclear at the time, so it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“That’s Santa Monica.”

“Yeah, but… Seattle’s cooler.”

Farly waved Santa Monica away with the back of his hand.

Jon looked back up at Farly, at the swelling around his eye.

“You don’t look so good.”

Farly shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“When did it happen?”

“Tuesday.”

Jon leaned forward, cradling his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I should have been there.”

Farly shrugged again. “Seattle was something that needed to happen.”

Jon nodded.

“You’re tired.”

Jon didn’t move, but he didn’t fight what Farly said.

Farly stood, moved around the table, and tugged at Jon’s arm. “You should go lie down.”

Jon let Farly help him up. Farly took him by the hand and led him to his room. He hugged Jon. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Jon let himself smile. He laid down on Farly’s bed.

Farly turned off the lights and started to close the door. “Hey,” he said. “What happened to taking care of each other?”

Jon sighed. “It wasn’t something you could have helped with.”

Farly watched him from the doorway, his ears slowly dropping. “Next time, you come to me.” He closed the door, and stood in the hallway a moment, before joining the others in the kitchen.

[g]

Back to Part 27 – Forward to Part 29

Back to Part 26 – Forward to Part 28

…In which Bryan preaches your face off.

I almost feel compelled to apologize for how preachy this chapter is. However, it fits with Bryan’s struggle with his parents’ money: it’s not something he’s comfortable about, nor is it something he’s proud of. With Ty, he saw a part of the city he had been effectively removed from, and he’s been shaken up. Which is good for him.

This is also where we get a better idea of what the Collective is. They’re often referred to as anarchists, which is only a small part of who they are. Their storefront down the Strip is a home to a lot of left literature, books about socialism and communism and anarchism, and all the -isms that make folks in the suburbs squirm, but their main focus, more than anything, is social action. They’re not looking to lead a revolution to overthrow the suburbs of Gateway City. They just want to foster social change in the area. So there’s a lot of literature from groups that seek social change (again, socialists and so on), but more often than not, they’re really just the twentysomething kids on the street with clipboards trying to gather signatures.

Ty knows the Collective because of TJ, who sent her their way because he knew some people that would teach her how to skate. From there, Ty started hanging out more regularly after school. They taught her how to fight, how to protect herself should she find herself out on the street alone at night, but more importantly, they taught Ty social activism. And so, Feldman Skatepark.

The story is this: 13-year old Ty gets harassed by a cop for skating out in a parking lot. Ty heads back to the Collective to complain and Jes (a woman we’ll likely never see, but I really should put her into the next Java story, dammit), Ty’s mentor, asks her a simple question,

“What are you going to do about it?”

So with the help of the Collective, Ty organizes a group to go to city hall, design in hand, and with the names of three hundred teenage skaters in the area, and convinces them to build a skatepark in Feldman park. So Ty’s first taste of social activism got results.

She’s embarrassed and proud at the same time, so that she keeps a flier for the opening of the park, but won’t tell Bryan why. She doesn’t want the attention, but at the same time, attention goes along with activism. And so, for right now, she has soup kitchens and a poster on the wall, until something comes along again.

As always, any questions you have are always welcome.

[g]

Back to Part 26 – Forward to Part 28

Back to Part 26 – Forward to Part 28

The Checker was quiet, the hum of the engine making up most of the conversation in the car. Ty pulled off the highway at the Java exit. Bryan leaned against the window, watching the dark suburbs slide past them, pools of light from street lamps bringing forward half a car, a knocked over trash can, a discarded newspaper. Ty stopped at a red light. She looked over at Bryan, and rubbed his shoulder.

“More than you expected, huh?” Ty said.

Bryan slumped in his seat, his hands folded over his stomach. “It wasn’t like on TV. God, that sounds really stupid, but… I dunno. I thought I’d go in and help and I’d come out feeling new and have this better sense of what I have and I do.”

“But…” The light turned green, and Ty pushed the car forward.

“I don’t deserve it. I don’t have the right to say I deserve more than the people I served tonight. All I could think about was all the food I’ve ever thrown away at lunch, and I don’t understand why I have the right to do that.”

Ty kept her eyes forward. She reached down and took his hand in hers.

“Why,” he continued, his voice lower, “do I get to have a Thanksgiving dinner in a warm house with people who love me, while someone else has to have it in a soup kitchen?”

“It’s not your fault,” Ty said.

“But it kind of is,” Bryan said, sitting up in his seat. “I mean, this is all because of the human exodus in the Sixties. The city was in bad shape, and instead of making it better, everyone left. We could have done something about it.”

“We? We weren’t alive then.”

“I mean, collectively. We all go hide in the suburbs, and only go to the city for work of if there’s a baseball game. And we don’t talk to the humans down there, because our parents have taught us that they’re bad people, and the furs are worse. And, I mean, this is all coming from…”

Bryan stopped. He pulled his jaw shut and watched out the window. His ears dropped with his shoulders, and he sighed a low, defeated sigh.

Ty squeezed his hand. “We shouldn’t ignore it.”

“We shouldn’t.”

“What are we going to do about it?”

Bryan kept his eyes on street outside. “I dunno. No one at Cherrywood gives a shit. They’d all think it’s socialism, and socialism is baaaad.”

“I bet we could find a few people. And the Collective is always interested in helping.”

Bryan rested his head on the window and disappeared into the night, counting the sentry-like street lights on the side of the road. Travelling at night was always his favorite way to travel, if he had to. The world is different at night. There are different cars on the road, different people in shops, different jobs to be performed. Nocturnal animals, street cleaners and road crews, come out. The world under a dark sky was the closest thing Bryan knew he could get to magic.

“I’m glad Bourbon and Farly are OK,” Ty said. Bryan came back to the car.

“Yeah. It’d suck if they broke up.” He stretched, cracking his neck. “Well, the only thing left is for Jon to come back.”

“Ha. You think?”

“Sure,” Bryan said. “It’d be like that crappy move where that kid is home alone on Christmas Eve, and in the end, his mom shows up because she hitch-hiked across the country, and then the family also shows up. And everyone is so happy to see their family member again that they forgot about their criminal negligence, and the years of therapy the kid will need staving off the separation anxiety.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. It’ll be a wonderful cliché.” Bryan shifted in his seat. “Uhm… could you drop me at home?”

“Are you sure?” Ty glanced over at him quickly.

“I should.” He opened his mouth, ready to finish that thought, but he couldn’t find the right way to. “I should.”

“A wonderful cliché?”

“Only if I bring the turkey.”

Ty laughed. “OK.” She turned onto her street, her house a few blocks away. Bryan watched where they were driving now, something that usually drove him nuts. But he seemed excited, ready for something new. Ty knew he was just that close to bouncing in his seat.

“Hey!” Bryan pointed to the sidewalk ahead. There was a backpacker walking down the path. He trudged steadily through the snow, his tail brushing a path behind him. He was likely cold, but he looked determined to get to wherever he was going, hunched against the weight of his pack. Ty pulled the car up next to him. Bryan rolled down his window.

“Hi!” He said, hanging out his window. “You’re going to come with us.”

Ty leaned over Bryan. “Your biggest fan is awaiting your audience. NOW GET IN.”

The backpacker sighed, put his gear in the back seat, and slid in. Ty pushed the car towards home.

Bryan turned back to their passenger, smiling wildly. “You don’t have a turkey, do you? Cause Ty and I have this thing going…”

[g]

Back to Part 26 – Forward to Part 28

Back to Part 25 – Forward to Part 27

If I had been thinking last week, I would have probably noticed that last week’s post was the end of Bourbon and Farly’s story. There used to be a little bit about Farly worrying about Jon, but it was too conveniently placed, and it got axed a revision or two ago. So, Bourbon gets to rest easy now, until the next time I decide to go fuck up these kids’ lives again.

Sorry I swore.

I realized a while back that most of these chapters, the days themselves, start with someone waking up, or lying in bed, and this is another case of “if I had been thinking.” If I had been thinking, I would have started each day like this. Right now, it happens enough to be noticeable, but not enough to be a conceit of any kind Which means it’s sloppy. Which, whatever. Given the amount of time spent in homes and rooms in 7 Days, I suppose it makes sense a lot of those chapters would start with someone waking up. I just feel like I could have done better. I guess.

The Collective keeps getting brought up, and if you’ll bear with me, we’ll talk about them next week, at which point we’ll set phasers to full preachy.

At any rate, that’s all I got this week. It seems my mind is elsewhere, which is no excuse, but there we are. And I know you have questions, so ask away. As always, you know how to get in contact with me.

[g]

Back to Part 25 – Forward to Part 27

Back to Part 25 – Forward to Part 27

For a long time, Bryan stared at the ceiling. It had to have been close to noon, and that was OK. He still lay in Ty’s bed, Ty still huddled close to him, the blankets pulled tight around her. He couldn’t tell if she was awake, but at that moment it really didn’t matter. He was warm and comfortable, and he tried his best to go back to sleep.

He dozed for a while, and when he opened his eyes again, he found Ty awake, barely. She smiled a small, sleepy smile at him, and reached up to his shoulder. They snuggled close, Bryan nuzzling his muzzle under hers, and they were comfortable, hiding under each other’s gentle caress, safe from the world and phoniness and people.

Bryan let out a slow, content sigh, and Ty smiled, nudging him with her muzzle. He giggled and pulled away before he made quick nips at her ear. Ty squeaked, trying to push him away. She grabbed a pillow, and hit him across his back. Bryan shot her a look, a “yeah? Yeah?”, and was upon her with the other pillow, landing a quick whump whump whump to her stomach. Ty squeaked again, and pushed Bryan down just before she landed a blow to his chest. Bryan defended pittifully.

They collapsed on each other, panting and giggled and nipping at one another. Ty kissed Bryan’s muzzle, and nuzzled her own under his. They dozed in the warmth of Ty’s bed.

Ty sat up and checked the clock on her desk. It was a binary clock, the kind with rows of little LEDs that lit up, instead of numbers. It was her first birthday present from Bryan, and she loved it. She still had the little card he made, the one that said, “Happy Birthday, dork,” on the inside. She sighed. That had been a good birthday.

Bryan sat up behind her, and he put his arms around her, holding her close. She leaned back into him.

“It’s almost noon,” she said.

“Mmm hmmm.”

“I guess we should get up.”

“Yes.”

“We’re up now, right?”

“We are up now, fully awake, happy, productive citizens.”

“Well. Good.”

“Yes.”

Ty stretched. She climbed off the bed, Bryan holding on until she was out of his reach. He crumbled on the bed like an unloved sockpuppet.

“I need to shower,” Ty said. “Sooo… get out.”

Bryan rolled off Ty’s bed, twisting and stretching until he was standing. He may have been overweight, but he was surprisingly graceful. “’k fine,” he said, and he headed for the door.

Ty grabbed him by his tail and pulled him back into a hug. After a moment, they pulled away and, the door closing behind him, Bryan left Ty alone.

—–

Ty found Bryan on the couch when she came out of her room. He stared at the TV with forced interest, channel surfing from Thanksgiving Day parades to random shows on cable. Ty vaulted over the couch, crossing her legs under herself as she settled in.

“Anything good on?”

Bryan shook his head. “Nope.”

“Nothing on the comedy station?”

“Just a marathon of crappy movies.”

“Hmm…” She turned to face him. “You OK?”

“Yeah…”

“Liar. What’s wrong?”

He closed his eyes. “Nothing.”

Ty shrugged. “OK.”

Bryan sighed. “Am I doing the right thing?”

“What do you mean?” Ty propped her chin up on her hands.

“It’s a big day for my family, and I’m here instead.”

Ty shrugged. “You’re doing it because you have to. You did it because it’s more important than pissing off your parents. Also, it’s been really good for Farly.”

“I know, but this is such a big day for my family. They always come over and eat at our house and sometimes they stay really late. It’s huge. And now, like, what do they think. I mean, I’m not there because of a gay. They were barely able to get over my mom and dad getting married.”

Ty pet his arm slowly. “So you’re not going to tell them?”

“They’d have to die first.”

“Well, you’re on your own, there, Turbo.”

“Yeah…”

Ty took his hand in hers and turned it over, studying it, if absently. “Do you regret it?”

“Not really. I love Farly too much to just not see him again.”

“That, and I couldn’t see you again.”

Bryan smiled. “You know, that never seemed like a problem…”

Ty giggled. She crawled over to Bryan and rested on him, her head on his shoulder. “At any rate, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

“I wouldn’t worry. From what I’ve seen, they’re not going to kick you out. They love you, they just don’t know how to handle the queer yet. And, I’m sure they’ll be glad you have some hetero tendencies. They know you’re attatched to a girl, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Sometimes, I don’t see any reason they should know.”

“Me neither.”

Their attention strayed to the parade. One of the big name acts stopped in front of a designated performing ares and began their set.

“They’re lip-syncing.”

“Yeah…”

“No one sounds that good live.”

“Nope,” Ty answered. She watched a little more. “These are always so corny.”

“Always.”

“So why are we watching?”

“Shut up. That’s why.” He gave the controller to Ty. “You do better.”

Ty turned off the TV and dropped the controller on the floor. “There.”

After a moment, Ty said, “are you coming with me tonight?”

“To the thing? With the collective?”

Ty nodded.

“Sure. Where is it?”

“Just in the city. It’ll be a good experience.”

“OK.”

Upstairs, the doorbell rang. They heard the door open, and TJ speaking to a woman. Bryan asked, “Who’s that?”

“TJ invited Ms. Davis over for dinner. He figured she’d be alone.”

“That TJ…”

“He’s a good guy.”

Bryan took her hand in his, and they idled on the couch, growing warm together.

[g]

Back to Part 25 – Forward to Part 27

Back to Part 24 - Forward to Part 26

So we’ve hit the home stretch. It’s weird knowing this serial has been running for over six months now, and now it’s on its last few chapters. What do I do with myself afterwards? Oh, right, make more stories.

This commentary is going to be about Farly.

My goal when I created Farly was to make a non-stereotypical gay character. This was years ago, after Ellen had come out, but before Neal Patrick Harris had come out. That is to say, things were a little different, though not by too much more, really.

Making Farly gay was an idea that just snuck into my head, and after it got it, it took hold and wouldn’t leave. It made sense for Farly, and so that’s what he became. But just like Ty, his context has so much to do with TJ: so much of who he is became that way because TJ was there to steer him, consciously or not, in that direction. Farly’s also not one for the stereotypically gay things: pink, glam, being ‘fabulous,’ make up, and so on. These things are just foreign to him

He has no trouble flirting with straight guys, though. So there’s that.

Erin made the remark that there’s a little more sex talk in the story than she remembered (Erin being one of the few that’s seen the first draft of the story). It’s true, a little sex talk has made it in to the story. I chalk it up to Bourbon, really. It’s what he’s used to, it’s how he’s used to thinking. I want to say there’s more to it, but that’s it. I’m not going to go as far to throw a sex scene it. They’re teenagers, that’d be fucked up.

Anyways, as always, questions are totally welcome.

[g]

Back to Part 24 – Forward to Part 26

Back to Part 24 – Forward to Part 26

Bourbon snapped out of sleep, sitting up fast, and his mind exploded in eight directions at once. Things weren’t right. The walls weren’t right, they were too close together, and the bed was all wrong, and the space around him felt open and constricted and it yawned around him, and it was dark, and he couldn’t figure out where he was or why he was there, and there was someone touching him, and he reached to the person, grabbing their arm hard, searching for clues, for anything. He realized he clung to his pillow in his other hand, and he was covered from the waist down with his blanket, and the bed felt wrong because he was on the floor. And the person… Bourbon relaxed his grip. His ears dropped, and he lowered his head. He pulled his legs up, resting his arms on his knees, and hid behind his shoulder.

“Hi,” Farly said. He had crouched down in front of Bourbon, his blue eyes watching his steadily. He wasn’t afraid, and Bourbon found he couldn’t look at him. Farly rubbed Bourbon’s shoulder. “You’re OK,” he said. “You’re OK.”

Bourbon nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Sorry,” he said, his voice just over a hiss.

“It’s OK,” Farly said. They sat together a moment, Farly’s hand on Bourbon’s shoulder, not saying anything. Bourbon shuddered, the adrenaline shaking out of his system, and Farly moved his hand up, resting it where Bourbon’s neck met his body. Bourbon had missed that touch.

“Do you want to come in?” Farly asked.

Bourbon looked up at him. He hugged his knees and nodded. Farly stood and offered his hand. He was only dressed in his boxers, his usual sleeping clothes. Bourbon blushed. Any other time he would have consered that an invitation. He took Farly’s hand, and they closed themselves in his room.

They seperated. Bourbon moved away from the door, folding his arms across his stomach, and he hugged himself, not looking at Farly. The mutt leaned against the door, his arms folded, radiating all kinds of hurt and anger. Bourbon whimpered.

“Farly, I’m really sorry. All I’ve been thinking about since the party is you. I was stupid and I feel really bad and-”

Farly placed his hand over Bourbon’s mouth. “Stop.” He drew his hand back. “You really hurt me.”

“I know, and I didn’t mean for the group at to party to be that-”

Farly did it again. “No. You. You really hurt me.”

Bourbon looked away. He started shaking again, and more than ever, he wanted to die. And he knew he didn’t deserve a quick death, like getting hit by a subway or bus, but something slow. Lava, maybe. Lava was probably best. It took all his strength to keep from breaking down.

“I can take being made fun of,” Farly continued. “That, I’m used to. And it’s not like those people haven’t been mean to me before. It was the promise.” Farly sat down on his bed. “I trusted you.”

Bourbon slid down the wall until he was on the floor. He couldn’t stop shaking. He held his head in his hands and stared at a spot between his feet. “I’m sorry,” he managed to force out.

There was movement above him. Farly sat down next to Bourbon, and rubbed his back, moving his hand in slow, comforting circles. He kissed Bourbon’s neck, and rested his head on his shoulder.

“I know,” Farly said. “I don’t want you hurting yourself like that. That was the promise. And when you hurt yourself, you hurt me.” He circled his arms around Bourbon and pulled him close. Dark lines streaked down Bourbon’s face. He didn’t look at Farly. When Farly brushed the tears from his face, he closed his eyes.

“I love you,” Farly said. Bourbon nodded.

“I love you, too.” He couldn’t make himself say it louder than a whisper. He fidgeted, then fell forward, hugging Farly tightly. Farly held him close, burying his nose in Bourbon’s soft headfur. Bourbon wished the day could end there. He squeezed tighter. For a moment, the room was still. Bourbon could have stayed like that all day. Farly pushed him up, and he placed a meditative kiss on Bourbon’s mouth. Farly smiled a soft, relieved smile when they broke away.

“Farly…” Bourbon said, finally looking at him. “You’re hurt.” He brushed his hand over the mutt’s face.

“It’s nothing,” Farly said. He turned away a little, away from Bourbon’s touch.

“I should have been there.”

Farly shrugged. He climbed back into bed and pulled Bourbon up with him. “It’s not your fault.” He kiss Bourbon again, longer this time. They snuggled against each other, holding each other close, and they dozed until the sun lit the city.

[g]

Back to Part 24 – Forward to Part 26