December 2021 - damaged package

[Kaje]

Our winning prompt this month leaves the field pretty wide open - what was in this? Who's it from? Who was it sent to? Or was this a move? An old memory stored away?

Give us your stories, poems, haiku, or flash fiction. Just keep it YA and LGBTQ.

[Scott]

Cal’s been my best friend since second grade. He showed up in Miss Gerber’s class halfway through the year with a buzz cut, a bow tie, and an infectious smile. Everyone wanted to be friends with the new kid. When I finally gathered the courage to say hello to him, he flashed that grin of his and said, “Jack! I wasn’t sure if you could talk.” Before I could answer, Mary Jenkins grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the swings. By the end of the week, Mary and Cal were “going steady.” I hated Mary Jenkins.

A week later, Cal was sitting alone at the far end of the field. He must have seen me coming from a long way off, but he didn’t try to hide the fact that he was crying. I sat down beside him and patiently listened to him. Mary decided she loved another boy, and Cal’s heart was broken. I tried to cheer him up, and we were soon chatting and laughing like we had known each other forever. I helped Cal get over Mary, and he coaxed me out of my silence.

Cal became more and more handsome as we grew. His dark eyes and shaggy blonde hair caught the attention of many girls. But Cal couldn’t understand puppy love and the capricious nature of little girls. We were seven, and he was already looking for his happily ever after. When they smiled at him, his heart melted. When they found another boy, he cried for days at a time.

Cal grew quickly and was a natural on the basketball court. It seemed the more he played, the less I saw him. I was never any good at sports. I hated sports. But I considered joining a team because I missed him so much. Just thinking about it made me a nervous wreck. I spent more time reading and writing stories instead. One day, he came to my door with a black eye. He looked tough. Like a warrior. We went to my room, and as soon as the door was closed, the tears began. One of the guys called him a name. Then the boy punched him. It was the boy Cal had grown very fond of throughout eighth grade. Cal refused to say much, but I think I pieced together what happened.

I did my best to make him feel better, like that day on the playground. I told him I didn’t care what anybody called him. He was still my best friend. I wanted to tell him more but didn’t know how. He thanked me with his impish grin and a tight hug. We started hanging out more and fell into our old routines. He fell in love. He fell apart. I helped put him back together again.

In high school, the only thing that changed was that he started falling in love with boys instead of girls. He asked if we could still be friends. I told him not to be stupid. I said I’d always be there for him. I meant it. Of course, I meant it. But it hurt a little too. I was getting tired of seeing him so sad. I wanted to tell him that I would never treat him that way. But I didn’t know how to say it. And we’d been friends forever. He needed me as a friend.

In the spring of our junior year, he called me. His college boyfriend dumped him. Of course, he did. Here we go again, I thought. We talked for two hours. I tried to tell him that he was too intense. No one our age was looking to get married. Love, at first sight, was only true in fairytales. I’m glad he called instead of coming over because I started crying, too. I think he knew, but at least he wasn’t there to see it. He thanked me like he always did. I could picture his smiling face still wet with tears. Before he hung up, he said something strange. “You’re wrong, you know. Love, at first sight, is real. But you have to be looking in the right direction.”

I had a wonderful dream that night. It seems I always had the best dreams when I knew Cal was free. Not that I could ever tell him what I dreamed about. I could never find the words. I woke when I felt a hand on my forehead and opened my eyes to see Cal sitting beside me.

“Your mom let me in. Hope you don’t mind.” There was a beat-up cardboard box on the bed. “I brought you something. I’m not sure if you want it, but I wanted to say thank you. For last night. And for all the other times.”

I rubbed my eyes, not sure if I was still dreaming. “Cal don’t be stupid. You don’t have to thank me. You’re my best friend. I’ll always be here for you.”

He laughed and shook his head. “You’ve been telling me that for years, but it wasn’t until last night that I actually heard you.” He nudged the tattered box closer. HANDEL WITH CARE was scrawled across the side of it.

“What is it?”

“It’s my heart. It’s slightly used, and it’s been broken a few dozen times, but the guy who does my repair work did the best he could. Like I said, it’s not much… And you may not want it…”

I tipped the box and opened the wilted flaps. Then I laughed like hell. Inside was the ugliest heart-shaped pillow I’d ever seen. It had been ripped open and restitched. Patches and bandages were stuck all over it. Some of the stuffing was jutting out. It was held together with string and wire, but the words LOVE ME could still be seen under all the first aid work. Then I saw the card, and Cal said the words as I read them.

“Jack, will you go to the prom with me?”

And for once, I knew exactly what to say. “There’s no one else I’d want to go with, Cal.” And I knew what to do. I grabbed the front of his jacket and kissed him. “I have loved you, and your dimples, and your stupid bow tie since the first time I laid eyes on you.”

He brushed the back of his hand along my cheek and kissed me again. “I can’t believe I’ve been looking in the wrong direction for all these years.”

[Karen]

I LOVE it!! cute!

[Kaje]

Scott wrote: "Cal’s been my best friend since second grade. He showed up in Miss Gerber’s class halfway through the year with a buzz cut, a bow tie, and an infectious smile. Everyone wanted to be friends with th..."

That's great, fun and cute and warm <3
Thanks for writing.

[Scott]

Thanks for the inspiration, Kaje!

[Kaje]

Secrets

Grandpa looked up from the trunk of old clothes to say "Careful on that ladder. What do you have there?"

"A box?" I eased it off the high shelf under the eaves. "It's pretty beat up."

"Oh dear." He pushed out of his chair stiffly. "So it is. Your Great Uncle Laurie would be sad."

"Great Uncle Laurie?" I had to rack my brains. "Your younger brother who died?"

"Yes." Grandpa reached for the battered carton in my arms, then thought better of it. "Set that down― carefully― and I'll deal with it later."

I eased the box to the floor. Something crackled inside it. "I think there's broken glass."

"No doubt."

"What's in there?" I pushed at a flap that already gaped a bit, then peeked into the narrow crack. Needless to say, it was too dark to see anything. I gave a bent edge a push, and it buckled more. "Sorry."

Grandpa sighed. "Go ahead. You're going to look anyhow."

I'd like to have replied "I wouldn't!" but we both knew I had the curiosity, and the sense, of Kipling's Elephant Child. "Thanks."

I peeled the crispy old tape off the flaps and opened them. There was a wrap of flannel, like an old shirt, at the top. I lifted it off, and under it was a small painting, the glass in the frame cracked in one corner. When I eased it out, I saw that it was a landscape that looked a lot like the view from Grandpa's cabin up north. "That's pretty."

"Mm hm." His guarded tone didn't fit the harmless little picture. As I dug back in for the next wrapped layer, he said, "Watch out for the glass."

The next one, when I unwrapped it, was something quite different. A young man stood in front of a picture window, skin highlighted by streaming morning sunshine. Lots of skin, since he was naked, his rounded ass catching a sheen of the golden light. "Um."

"Your Great Uncle Laurie," Grandpa said. "Go on."

He offered nothing more, and at sixteen I wanted to seem totally cool with this, so I dug back in and unwrapped, and worked another free and unwrapped. Eventually I had six small nudes, all of the same golden-haired fair-skinned young man. The last was full-frontal, the guy's dick lying soft against his thigh as he seemed to sleep on a couch, head pillowed on one arm, his eyes closed. Grandpa sighed again.

"Was Gruncle Laurie an artist? Or a model?"

"Well, he modeled for that artist." Grandpa eased the glass shards out of the frame and eyed the canvas. "This is torn. A shame."

"What artist, Grandpa?"

"His lover. Boyfriend, I guess you'd say now."

"Gruncle Laurie was gay?" I'd heard almost nothing about him, dead decades before I was born.

"He and the artist, a young man named Connor Bright, spent one summer at the lake place. Resting after college exams, supposedly. Fishing. Preparing for law school on Laurie's part."

"Fishing." I touched the wood frame of one of the portraits.

"Yes, well, our father decided to join them in their manly pursuits, as a surprise. It was a surprise, all right."

"Ouch." I bit my lip. If someone found me naked with my boyfriend, I'd get a lecture on safe sex and how young we were. I'd bet that wasn't what Gruncle Laurie heard.

"You might say so. They were summarily evicted from the cabin. Laurie's college fund suddenly dried up. And when he wouldn't repent, or give up association with the deviant painter he'd brought to our sacred cabin, he was expelled from the family."

"How did you get the paintings?" I asked. Then, deciding I wanted to know, "How did he die?"

Grandpa set the frames upright, side by side, leaning on the bottom shelf. "Laurie and Connor brought them to me to keep safely. They had to find a new place to live, and without a car, they had no way to transport more than a suitcase apiece."

"And they never came back for them?"

"No. They decided to head to France, where things were a bit more congenial for men like them. They were going to send for their things later…" The drop of Grandpa's tone had an ominous ring to it.

"What happened?"

"They went by boat and there was a bad storm. The boat went down. All hands lost at sea."

"Oh no." I eyed the portraits, the glowing colors, the bright eyes and curved smile and loving touches of a gorgeous young man painted by someone who loved him. "That's so sad."

"Yes." Grandpa set a gnarled hand on the tallest frame. "If Father hadn't acted like a tyrant, they wouldn't have been on that boat. Probably. Of course, he wasn't the only one making Europe look more appealing for men like Laurie."

"But you kept the paintings. How did the box get so damaged?" Then I remembered this was Grandpa's brother we were talking about. "Sorry for your loss."

Grandpa looked at me over the top of his glasses. "You're a good boy, Nate. It was long, long ago. As for the box, I don't even remember. Years of piling stuff up, I guess. And Connor was an impractical guy. He clearly didn't pack them well."

"What will you do with them now?" I asked. I didn't want to perv over my great uncle, but there was one, the second one, where the focus was from the waist up and his brilliance and the artist's affection seemed to leap off the canvas.

"Not sure. Pack them more carefully, for one thing." Grandpa raised a bushy brow at me. "Maybe give them to someone who knows their story and might have a reason to cherish them. A reason to want to remember two brave young men who defied the world for love, back when I was too much of a fool to help them?"

I bit my lip, wondering if color was flushing my face. I was out to Mom and Dad, but not yet to Grandpa. I hadn't been sure. Older folk, you know.

"Something you want to tell me?" Grandpa asked.

I swallowed hard, despite the reassurance in front of me. "My boyfriend can't draw a cat without it looking like a demented elephant," I said.

Grandpa's lips twitched. "I'm sure the young man has other talents." He immediately raised his hand. "No, I don't want to know the details. Although, if you wanted to bring him to meet me sometime, I'd be interested."

Relief from a tension I hadn't even realized I was carrying flooded over me. "Thanks. I'll do that."

"And do you want the paintings?"

I wasn't sure what I'd do with them. Not hang them in my room, for sure, accepting parents or not. Maybe the landscape, as a reminder… "Yes," I said. "I want them." After all, my life was just beginning. Someday I'd have a place of my own, and maybe a wall where one or two of those would look right.

"Good." Grandpa held out the tape. "Then you can clear up the broken glass, pack them better, and take them with you. One less box to get rid of."

I glanced around the crowded attic. "Out of six hundred."

"Well, yes. I've had a long life in this house." His gray eyes met mine, bright and sharp. "And I'm glad I lived long enough to trust Laurie's secret to someone who will carry it with pride, not shame. I'm glad you found those. I'm truly glad you can be who you are in this family, without fear."

"So am I." Affection warmed my chest, but for some reason my eyes were watering. I swiped them with the back of my hand. "Thanks, Grandpa. I'll keep them safe. Now, shall I fetch down box six hundred and one?"

######

[Scott]

This is lovely. And so inspirational.
Thanks for posting.

[Kaje]

Scott wrote: "This is lovely. And so inspirational.
Thanks for posting."

:) Thank you.

[Brooklyn]

Forgotten Memories…

Claire looked around the apartment, partly stunned and still a little numb. Eve hadn’t really given her too much of an explanation.
“I just need some space.” Eve had said, as she was packing her belongings into a few boxes that she scavenged from the 7-11 down the street.
“You don’t have to leave, you know. I can give you the space you need.” Claire pleaded. “We can take a break without leaving each other.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Claire.” Eve threw another box on the small stack she was building at the door. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have let this go so long.”
So, as Claire tried to make some sense of the whole thing, she slipped into the bedroom to try and restore a little order to the mess Eve had left in her wake. They had never been particularly separatist when it came to their clothes, so everything was always thrown together in the closet and the dresser. As a result, Claire found her own clothing strew about on the bed; ‘their bed’, she thought, forlornly.
Claire couldn’t help but remember all of the wonderful times they had enjoyed there. She remembered their first time, when she had brought Eve back home from the party. They were both a little tipsy, but not so much to dull their senses or make the experience any less meaningful. Everything had blossomed from there.
Now, it was only a memory. Thinking she was done with grieving; Claire was surprised to find her cheeks wet with tears. Maybe this was going to take some time. Slowly, she returned the room to its somewhat neat appearance.
The sliding door to the closet was slightly ajar, but as Claire went to close it, something stopped it. Opening it fully, she found a box. It was a bit worse for wear. On the side was written in red marker, Fragile, Handle with Care.
Carefully, she pulled the box out, being careful to support the bottom, and laid it on the bed. She had a vague idea what was inside, but had to be sure. Opening the crumpled leaves of the top, she couldn’t help but weep.
Claire had always been artistic, and she remembered making the Jewelry tree for Eve. It was one of the first gifts she had ever given her. She lifted the piece out of the box, set it on the dresser, and just stared at it. The lovely marble base was grasped by the twisted copper roots, until they merged to form the gnarled trunk that she had struggled to form. Then, just as the roots spread around the marble, the branches stretched into the air.
There were still two sets of earrings on the tree, dangling from the tips of the uppermost branches. It really was one of the most beautiful things she had ever created. Her reverie was disturbed by a familiar voice.
“Claire, I…” But when Eve saw Claire admiring the very thing she had returned for, she was reticent to continue.
“I remember making this for you.” Claire managed, tears still dampening her face.
“It is beautiful.” Eve sighed, still standing in the doorway. “But not nearly as lovely as you.”
Eve’s admission stole Claire’s attention, and she turned just in time to take Eve into her arms. “I miss you already.” Clair sobbed.
“We’ll get through this, okay?” Eve comforted.
“I don’t want you to leave.” Claire clung to her as if her life depended on it.
“Then I won’t.” Eve conceded. “We’re stronger together than apart, Claire,” Eve said, her own voice cracking with emotion. “I hadn’t driven a mile before I realized what a huge mistake I had made.”
“I’ll try harder,” Claire promised, meaning it.
“So will I.”

[Kaje]

Brooklyn wrote: "Forgotten Memories…

Claire looked around the apartment, partly stunned and still a little numb. Eve hadn’t really given her too much of an explanation.
“I just need some space.” Eve had said, as..."

Lovely, emotional, and that ending is sweet. <3

[Karen]

awww the two I hadn't commented on yet are so sweet! very well written. I especially liked how the great uncle was gay. thanks for sharing!

[Kaje]

Karen wrote: "awww the two I hadn't commented on yet are so sweet! very well written. I especially liked how the great uncle was gay. thanks for sharing!"

<3 Thank you.