DUST

Briar had started the sorry job of teaching me to fight.  I hated it.  I didn’t want to fight anyone.  He knew that.  He’d heard me complain enough.  But he had me do it anyway and said he hoped I never needed what I was learning how to do, either, but knowing how would help me not be so afraid of it and should help my self-confidence.

That was the thing: I’d begun feeling a little better about myself.  I had some pride now that I hadn’t before.  But it seemed that when he started teaching me how to fight, I lost it all again.  All the insecurities I’d had before came roaring back.

It didn’t deter Briar, however.  He showed me how to stand if someone confronted me and it looked like there might be a fight.  He showed me how to move sideways, forward and back without losing balance.  I had to practice my footwork, and he’d be critical every time I did something wrong, like crossing one foot over the other to move.  The way he was critical wasn’t to yell at me.  All he did was, when I did something to affect my balance, he’d give one of my shoulders a push and I’d end up on the ground.  I got so I hated that, and so started paying more attention to my feet until it became routine to do it right.  If I did it right, and he pushed me, I didn’t fall down.

He showed me various punches and combinations of punches, how best to throw them, and when to do so based on the position I was in and where my opponent was.  Briar talked tactics, too.

“Your best approach, if faced with a fight, is to use your greatest asset.  For you, that’s your brain.  You’re smart and very likely smarter than your opponent.  So, engage him in a dialog before the fight begins, if you can.  What you say, then, will decide how things go.  The important thing is this: use your talk to achieve a specific goal. 

“You have to know what you want.  That well may be different depending on the situation and the opponent.  But, and this is important, don’t talk to him thinking maybe you can make him like you.  If you’re scared, which you’ll probably be, trying to make him like you will seem like a plausible defense tactic.  But, it won’t work.  Often, doing that will simply encourage him; it’ll make him think you’re weak.  So, even if it feels like a good strategy, don’t do it.  Talk to get him off guard, or delay things, or to accomplish something else.  But not to win him over.”

Briar could see in my eyes that I was doubting what he said.  So, he kept going.  “So many kids who feel inadequate and weak think if they can just appeal to their tormentor, make him see that they’re nice and kind and aren’t a threat, the bullies will leave them alone.  Most of the time, the opposite is true.  So, don’t try to appease them or make them think you’d be a good friend.  That won’t work, even though it seems a natural defense to adopt.  Forget about it.  Forget about being like a young puppy who rolls over on its back and exposes its tummy when threatened.  If the threat is real, that’ll get them killed and will you, too.  Bullies aren’t kind and swayed by appeasement.  You don’t want these guys for friends any more than they want you.  They want to hurt you and feel good about themselves and to impress anyone watching. 

“You’ll have to figure out what to say when the time comes, but remember, talking should have a purpose, and the purpose should be to somehow give you an advantage when the fists start flying, or ideally to prevent the fists from flying in the first place.”

Briar wanted me to have more time off.  As I’d picked up the pointers of how to do the various jobs on the house, I found I was enjoying doing the work and enjoying the feeling that I could do it well.  I also enjoyed working with Briar.  We were accomplishing something together, and it was something overt.  The house was shaping up.  And I’d been a real part of that.  Only a few weeks earlier, I’d been excited if I scored 10,000 points on a video game.  Now, I got excited when I did things like cut the last tile for my shower and saw it fit perfectly with all the others.  The video games were long gone and forgotten.  The tiled shower and crown moldings would last until the house was torn down.  And I’d helped build it!

But going off by myself, exploring the neighborhood, with Travis almost always sitting behind me on the Moped—that was just as good.  We had great fun.  What surprised me was when we’d get off somewhere because he wanted to show me something, and we’d just walk.  That was when we did most of our talking.  It was young teen talk, kind of like what those boys in Stand By Me did, talking about nothing at all but stuff we found interesting.  I’d never done that before, and it was wonderful.  I could see how this kind of talking was a bonding experience.  I knew now what books he liked to read, what music he liked, what his favorite color was, and which boys at school he’d had crushes on. 

When it was my turn, I told him how shy I was, and that I didn’t have friends, but didn’t tell him how I’d always thought I was worthless.  It hurt to remember all that, and telling anyone, even him, was something I wasn’t ready to do.  I could and did tell how I’d never done much of anything before this summer, and hadn’t thought I could.  He looked at me like I was crazy.

“You’re designing a tree house!” he said.  “We’re going to build it, me and you, and I don’t know anything about building so it’ll mostly be you.  What’d you mean, you can’t do anything?”

I had to explain that what I could do now was all Briar’s doing.  I don’t think he believed me, though.  He only knew me from when I’d been living here.

He told me what the school was like where we’d be going in the fall, he told me about some of the kids there.

“Most of the kids are just kids, you know?”

We were walking on the field at the top of the hill on the other side of the road, away from the cliff and the view of the city.  At the far side of this field he’d told me there was a fresh water spring.  He was taking me to see it.

He continued with what he’d started to say.  “Most of the kids know I’m gay.  I got a few remarks and a little teasing at first, but not much.  Except for this one kid.  Ockington, Carl Ockington.  He’s the class bully, I guess.  I just try to stay away from him.  He’s bigger than the rest of us in our grade, both taller and heavier, and he likes to fight.  He also picks on anything there is to pick on, and being gay is something like that—big time.”

We were coming to some trees at the far edge of the field.  I guessed that was where the spring was.  It was a gorgeous day.  I didn’t know how to identify birds, but there were quite a few flitting around the field, some on the ground pecking here and there, some just circling above.  I imagined the field was a great source of bugs for birds and was happy for those who enjoyed that sort of thing.

“He’ll probably pick on you, too, because you’re new and you’re smaller than he is.  I’ll point him out to you.  If you see him around, just walk the other way and don’t make eye contact and you might be OK.”

“Has he ever done anything to you, Trav?”

“Yeah, a couple times.  Nothing too bad.  Pushed me down.  Tore up some schoolwork.  I guess the worst was when he was with a few of his friends and they sort of surrounded me when I was on my way home across that field you run in and there was no one else around.  He pushed me around a little, then knocked me down and with all his friends watching and laughing, he peed on me.  My face and all over.”

He stopped talking, remembering, but then sort of shook himself and smiled.  “Didn’t hurt or anything.  I just took a shower when I got home.  He didn’t bother me for a few weeks after that.  Probably afraid I’d tell on him.”

“You didn’t?”

“He had witnesses who’d back up whatever story he told, and I didn’t.  It wasn’t on school property, anyway.  Telling wouldn’t have done me any good.  I’m just telling you so you can avoid the guy.”

The spring was back in the trees.  Water was bubbling out of a swale.  A small rivulet of it trickled away and down through the woods, and it had cut a narrow track running away from us into the trees that wasn’t much more than perhaps an inch or two deep.  Travis cupped his hands in the bubbling spring, collected some water and drank it.  I did the same.  It was cool and tasteless.  At least I didn’t taste anything.  Maybe it was because my mind was too occupied thinking of Travis lying on the ground surrounded by bigger boys, all laughing while one of them pissed on him.

As the repairs on the house were coming towards the end, Briar got used to me spending more time with Travis.  If you’ve ever been 14 and had a friend you liked a lot and there was about a half a summer spreading out ahead of you, you know a little bit about heaven.  I’d never had this before, and I woke up each morning looking forward to what the day would bring.

We walked more than we rode the Moped, though we did that, too.  We spent time on the edge of the cliff, looking out over the city, talking.  I found I could tell him things I’d never told anyone else.  It didn’t diminish me in his eyes.  It made us closer.

We’d had a good day lifting.  We now showered afterwards inside because we’d taken the drums off the platform.  Sometimes we showered by ourselves, but frequently together.  I liked the showers, and I liked it when we dried off afterward and could watch each other doing it.  We had lunch and then spent some time planning the tree house.  He was as excited about it as I was.  We both were looking forward to sleeping in it.  Together.  We hadn’t begun construction yet.  We were still kicking around ideas.  Travis had a lot of them, even though they tended toward the fantastical rather than practical.  But the discussions those ideas engendered were really fun. 

Later, we went to the cliff and sat down in the grass.  By then, I’d got to calling Travis, Trav.  That was how the conversation that followed got started, with us looking out over the city, enjoying the warm sunshine and being alive and being together.

“You need a nickname,” Travis said after I’d just called him Trav.  “I love your name.  Dustin is cool.  It’s also sort of cute, just like you.”

I blushed, and told him I wasn’t cute, and he just laughed, not bothering to argue with me.  Then he went on.  “Everyone has a nickname.  It shows you know someone better than just casual-like, that you’re friends if you call them something other than their regular name.  I’m not real creative, so I’m not real good at thinking up nicknames, but how about Dusty?  It’s kind of obvious, but it’s a really good name.”
 
I looked at him.  I found it hard not to look at him.  He was more tanned now than he had been.  He still wore his straw hat when mowing—he said it was his trademark—but not other times, and his mop of messy mostly-red hair was now almost blond from the sun.  My initial attraction to him was much stronger now, though not because of his hair.  It was because of who he was and how he acted.  I was wondering when I should break down and tell him that I liked him and I too was gay when I remembered his question.

I said, “No. I don’t like that name.  I mean, the name’s OK, but just not for me.  It doesn’t feel like me.  It’s sort of Western-sounding and makes me think of cowboy hats and boots and saggy blue jeans and a drawl, and maybe a rough-and-tumble attitude toward life.  That isn’t me at all.”

“What do you feel like, then?”

I looked down.  “I was never been comfortable talking about myself before,” I said, and then looked back up.  “But I can now, since we’ve been together.”  I stopped at that point, however, feeling uncertain.  I’d had negative feelings about myself so long, and if I didn’t feel quite so much that way now, well, revisiting how I’d felt before would certainly stir up old memories.  Bad memories.  Painful ones.
 
Trav was looking at me, though, waiting, which also made me uncomfortable, but in a good way.  I liked him looking at me.  I also liked that he wasn’t pushing me to say things I wasn’t quite ready to say.

Time passed, and then he said, “How about Dust?  That’s just as good as Dusty, and doesn’t seem to have anything much of the Old West in it.  Dust.  What do you think?”

“Yeah,” I said, after a pause.  “Dust.  That’s perfect.”  And it was.

He nodded but didn’t say anything else.  He could see my mood and was giving me room, room to say nothing at all, or room to talk.  It was up to me.  And with him, somehow, I felt I could  talk, talk about myself in a very personal way.  Weird.

“Dust was what I felt like, before this summer,” I finally managed to say.  “I felt insignificant then.  Kind of worthless.  Sometimes I even thought about whether I should…  Well, a lot has changed since Briar rescued me.  Since I’ve been here.  Since I met you.  I don’t really feel so bad about myself anymore.  So that meaning of dust doesn’t fit as well now.  But…” 

I stopped and grinned at him.  “Now, if you say Dust, it kinda feels affectionate.  I like that feeling.”

He wasn’t going to let me off the hook of talking about myself that easily.  He wanted to know about me, why I’d felt bad about myself, and to him, this was the time to hear it.  “Why did it fit you before?” he asked.

I can do this, I said to myself, then took a breath and set out to prove it.  “When I was little, I lived in my head a lot.  Maybe everyone does that, I don’t know.  But I did.  I was almost like a character in a story I was telling myself.  If I wasn’t exactly a hero, at least I was important.  I liked living in my head; I could do and think anything I wanted.  My head was the only place I had any control over my life at all.  So I was in there a lot, living in my imagination.

“Real life wasn’t like that at all.  My father had hated me ever since I can first remember.  He was always contemptuous of me, always made me feel there was something wrong with me, something bad, and I tried to stay away from him as much as I could.  But when a kid gets that message, constantly—he begins to believe it.  I certainly did.”

I shifted on the ground to get more comfortable.  He did, too, and now his knee was brushing mine.  Maybe he did that on purpose.  His physical presence helped.

“My mother was OK, she loved me and tried to keep him from being mean and sarcastic to me, but she was afraid of him, and he ignored her most of the time.  The only times he didn’t, he’d get as sarcastic to her as he did to me.  I think it got too much for her.  I think that’s why she took the pills she did.  She killed herself.”

Trav reached out, and then we were holding hands.  Sitting there, me talking, us holding hands.  We’d never done that before.

“Trav, I’ve never known how to feel about that.  She loved me, she tried to protect me, but then she abandoned me.  Because of him, but I was the one she hurt by doing that.  I’m angry about that.  She killed herself, and that was cowardly; she had a responsibility to me and failed at it.  I don’t know what she could have done differently, but leaving me like that was just weak and totally unfair.  Maybe I’ll see it some other way when I’m older.  Now, I just get mad and can’t really forgive her.  I was only a kid.  I needed her.  I needed her love and protection.”

I stopped because this was dredging up too many memories.  None of them were good.

“I don’t live in my head so much anymore.  Not since Briar and Pat.  Briar makes me look outside myself.  He makes me see the world and accept it as it is, and he is showing me how to live successfully in it and be proud of myself.  Be more confident.  And, you know, it’s sort of like losing an old friend, because once you stop living so much inside yourself, when you try to go back, it’s just not the same.  And you see that it isn’t a place you want to live in any more.  I’ve seen that, anyway.

“And then there’s Pat.  Pat gives me unconditional love.  Briar does too, but Pat’s is more physical, more open and demonstrative.  If you haven’t had love that comes with hugs and hair mussing and touching and back-patting before, you drink it up like a man finding water in a desert and keep coming back for more. 

“Briar is simply there for me.  He’s uncomfortable with physical affection, and never says anything about it.  I’m not sure he can. But he’s patient and strong, and I just know that if I have a problem he’ll be right there to be sure it isn’t more than I can handle.  He wants me to work things out by myself, though, and tries to encourage me to do so.  I’ve never had anyone before who cared about me like he does, and that makes so much difference in how I look at things.  Someone’s there for me now if I need it.

“The way I’m living now, it’s all good.  Living outside yourself in the real world, while scary, is more rewarding than staying inside yourself.  You have the opportunity to be much happier this way.  And to meet really wonderful people instead of shy away from them.  I met you.”

He was still holding my hand.  I stopped looking out over the city and looked at him.  He was looking back, and his deep blue eyes seemed very large and darker than usual.

“Trav,” I said, while I could, “I’m gay.  And I’m too young and inexperienced to know anything about love, and whenever I try anything new I always screw it up, but when I’m with you, that word keeps trying to come out of my mouth, and I don’t want to hold it in any longer.”

His eyes got so large, I thought they might pop.  He stared at me for a second or two, and then his special grin appeared and he said, “Is this another thing you don’t think you’re any good at?  Being in love?  With someone who loves you back even more?”

I was grinning now, too.  “Yeah.  I hope you’ll be as patient as Briar is.”

“Patient, hell!”

And then we were kissing—and kissing and kissing.  Neither one of us wanted to stop.  We rolled over and over in the grass, first one on top and then the other.  It’s said that luck smiles on lovers, and maybe that was true because we always seemed, in our rolling, to move away from the cliff’s edge rather than toward it.  When eventually we walked back down the hill, side by side, with sore lips, still hand in hand, neither of us intending to let go till we had to, I somehow felt lighter on my feet than I had been before, and the world somehow looked brighter, too, like someone had pulled back the curtains on a window to let in the light and to show all the opportunities lying right outside—waiting for us, there for us to experience.