We're Working On It Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  copyright

  Dedication

  Chapters

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  About the Author

  back blurb

  WE’RE

  WORKING

  ON

  IT

  BY

  RICHARD NORWAY

  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 wondere
d 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.”

  Richard twitched as this drama appeared to be getting thicker with the boy’s last words.

  Richard continued his questioning.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Silence.

  “Does your mom or dad know where you are?”

  The boy sat in thought for a moment before answering. It was short and to the point.

  “My mom died three years ago.”

  Richard gulped and then frowned. “I’m really sorry.”

  Richard had to pause, but wanted to continue. He had to find a way to do something with this boy now that he was in his car. He knew he couldn’t just leave him out in the rain.

  “How about your dad?”

  Silence.

  The boy’s face turned quickly from the fears that were evident all evening to one of complete anger. Suddenly turning toward Richard and in a loud voice with more emotion than he had shown that night said,

  “I can’t go home, alright...?”

  The boy paused slightly, trying to get a hold on his emotions, his anger, and then he continued.

  “...Because my DAD is the one who hit me. He’s the fucking bastard that threw me out of the house tonight.”

  Richard froze and looked straight ahead at the freeway passing beneath him. His eyes foretold of the anger rising within him, and he couldn’t look at the boy. Richard didn’t know what to say. He’d heard of child abuse, of course, but had not witnessed it personally himself. He was now looking at that horror.

  Richard began to crumble inside as his heart went out to the boy. He didn’t know anything about him except for two things that he had observed: he was not a bad kid and he was in trouble.

  He didn’t know what the boy had done to warrant this treatment, but from the few things that he perceived about the boy, he was ready to accept that the boy’s condition was through no fault of his own. He dwelled on the idea that nothing that a teenager could do would warrant what had obviously happened to him. But just then the thought crept over him that even children can be capable of very terrifying acts.

  Richard finally turned to the boy and saw him consumed by the countryside to the boy’s right as it passed in the rain. The atmosphere in the car was stiffening. The boy had exposed a part of his horror and appeared to be closing down. He sensed that the boy was close to panic, and wanted to bring him back to reality.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked. “Have you had anything to eat tonight?”

  The boy continued to stare out the window and remained quiet and motionless for what seemed to Richard like an eternity, but was actually only a few seconds. Time is relative to the panic inside oneself.

  “It’s okay. I had a big lunch,” the boy finally answered, but his eyes remained fixed on the window.

  “I th
ink you might need to get some food in you. It’ll at least make you feel better.”

  The boy remained silent. No more words passed between them, and Richard continued to drive south in silence. But then, slowly, Richard turned the wheel slightly to the right and pulled onto an off-ramp. He spotted the familiar arches through the rain, turned right at the bottom of the off ramp and steered toward the lights of the restaurant.

  As Richard navigated the parking lot entrance, he said to the boy, “I think the drive-thru will work for us. We can eat in the car in the parking lot. I don’t think you want to go inside just yet.”

  The boy nodded his approval.

  The car approached the drive-thru menu and the box below the billboard menu squawked, “Welcome to McDonald’s. Would you like to try our special salad and sandwich combination this evening?”

  Richard simply said, “No.” He then turned toward the boy who was now looking at the menu through the front window. The boy had that hungry look in his eyes, acknowledging the earlier lie about having had a big lunch.

  “See anything that suits you?” he asked.

  “Just a quarter pounder, small fries and a coke.” The boy said, once again showing no emotion.

  Richard turned back toward the squeaky box and ordered. “We’ll have three quarter pounders with cheese, two small fries, a large coke and a small black coffee.” Richard had planned on only having one of the burgers and one of the fries.

  The box repeated their order, almost understandably, and then Richard drove the car to the first window, paid for the food and drove to the pick-up window. As they waited for their food, Richard’s eyes focused on the windshield straight ahead while the boy returned to his post at the passenger window. When their order arrived, Richard took the food from the open window, handed it to the boy, drove the car to an empty parking space and turned off the car engine. Neither the boy nor the man spoke as silence seemed to be the way they communicated best.

  As Richard ate quietly, he noticed that the boy was having trouble eating. It appeared obvious that the pain in his jaw was preventing him from chewing. Richard ate slowly so as to keep pace with the boy, their best form of communication continuing throughout the meal.