|Back To Story Index | Back to Story Archive | Back to Homepage |

 

Warning, this story may contain sexual content involving men or boys. If this is not to your tastes, please leave now.

"Lessons In Brown" retains copyrights to the story.  Please do not distribute it to any newsgroups and/or other web-sites without our expressed permission.

           Thanks!

 

 

 

Getting To The Good

By "J"

October, 2000 ©

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter V



Craig threw his shirt on, pulled up his shorts and looked at me expectantly. His gray eyes were unusually pale, and seemed to plead, 'What should I do? What should I do?' I shrugged.

"Craig, are you all right?" His mother asked through the door. Craig, to my surprise, unlocked the door and swung it open. Ms.McLemore stood in the doorway, her eyes darting between Craig and I. I hoped my face didn't reflect my surprise, my guilt.

"Tracy? Tracy Diggs? Is that you?" she asked, inching into the room. "Boy, I haven't seen you in years. My goodness, you are growing up to be a handsome devil. Just like all those Diggs' boys...and that sexy
father of yours. By the way, how is he?"

I smiled. Ms. McLemore had been divorced about five years, and in that time, she'd become the neighborhood's biggest flirt. "He's fine, Ms. McLemore. So is my mom," I said.

"Good, good." She looked between Craig and I again. "Well, what took you two so long to open that door?"

Craig and I exchanged a look. "Ma, we were looking for a jersey," Craig lied. "Big D needs it before the next practice."

Ms. McLemore didn't question her son's excuse. She handed Craig a plastic bag. "I picked up some things down at the thrift store you might like."

Craig smiled awkwardly and tossed the bag on the bed. He went to his chest of drawers, and pulled out a jersey. "Here it is, kid," he said.
"Oh yeah."

He walked to his desk and wrote something on a sheet of paper. "Here's that number he wanted, too." Craig's eyes glittered blue as he handed me the scrap of paper.

I took that as my cue to leave. Sticking the note in my pants pocket, I bid his mom goodbye. I drove straight home and collapsed across my bed.

The past 30 minutes swirled through my head, dizzying me with a roller coaster of emotions--fear, desire, and now, some form of self-hate. I hated myself for peeking at Craig through his window yesterday. I hated myself for enjoying it. I hated myself for sneaking into Craig's room. I hated myself for the things I did with him there. Most of all, I hated myself because I wished, secretly, that Ms. McLemore hadn't interrupted what was happening between Craig and I.

Why couldn't I be more like Duane and keep a steady girlfriend? I'm almost 17 years old. I should have a girlfriend. All my brothers had steady girlfriends at my age--or at least had a steady stream of girls
posing as friends who called. I hadn't been with a girl in over a year. I didn't get many phone calls, either.

I wondered what my dad thought about that--what he thought about me, his youngest son. I
hoped he wasn't embarrassed. He was so proud of the others--"some of the best athletes Vanderbilt High's ever seen," according to him. I ran track and was a member of the swim team, but what recognition did I get? Dad never made a big deal about that. And if he knew what I'd almost done with Craig...

Later, after I'd eaten dinner and was changing out of my clothes, I emptied my pants pocket. Besides $1.28 in change, I fished out two things that had been given to me that day. The first, a Gay Men of
African American Descent (GMAAD) card given to me by my cousin, Marv, and the second, the note Craig wrote to Duane.

I opened the scrap of paper and gave silent thanks that I had: it was not a note intended for my brother, but for me. Craig wrote: "Yo, kid, I am not through with you" along with his telephone number.

That made me smile, then worry. So did the GMAAD card. My life had come to a crossroads. I was definitely going to have to make a call. But not today. It had been far too overwhelming for me to make that decision now. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep...

 

 

 

Chapter VI

The Indigo teemed with high school and college age students, who obviously made up the bulk of the trendy hangout's clientele. Among those hunched over a table were me and my cousin, Marv. In the two weeks since my almost-experience with Craig, I'd neither called him nor that Cyrus Colter counselor at GMAAD. Indecision was one bitch that I'd rather not be so familiar with, but what the hell.

Marv had sensed that I needed to talk when he called last night. I'd agreed to meet him here today for lunch. While we waited for our cokes to arrive, he asked how I was doing. "Okay," I said. "Have you..uh...run into Craig McLemore lately?"

"Why would you ask that?" He shrugged.

"Last time we talked, he seemed to be weighing pretty heavy on your mind."

I'd seen Craig twice since our "encounter." The first time was on the football field when I'd gone to pick up Duane after practice. He didn't ask for a ride that day, but he made sure to smile the minute he spotted me. The second time, he'd come over to the house looking for Duane, who at that time, was with his girl Tisha.

"Yo, kid. What's the deal? Your fingers broke or something?" Craig had asked.

"Naw, I just...look, I'm just not ready, okay?"

"You was damn ready the other day. What changed?" he asked.

"Look, Craig, don't be crowding me."

Craig backed up on the porch, gave me a hard look and said, "Cool. Just remember, kid. Just cause I offered this to you don't mean you can have it whenever you want it. I don't wait for long--not for nobody."


The waitress returned with our drinks, interrupting my flashback. "Actually, I haven't seen Craig since the last time we talked." I wondered, even as I spoke these words, just how much I was willing to reveal to Marv.

He stirred his straw in his coke, looking beyond our table. "Cuz, I hope you don't mind, but I invited someone to lunch with us." Before I could respond, a tall, honey-complected man with cornrows came to our table, shook hands with Marv, and sat down across from me.

"Sorry I'm late. Traffic," the man said. His deep voice rumbled in my ears. "Tracy, this is Cyrus Colter, the friend I was telling you about," Marv said. "Cyrus, this is my cousin, Tracy Diggs."

I shook Cyrus' hand, smiled even. Inside, my heart was running a triathlon. What was Marv trying to do, inviting me to lunch with a GMAAD counselor in a public? I gave my cousin the evil eye.

"Tracy, it's good to meet you," Cyrus said. "Your cousin has told me about you."

"Really?" I narrowed my eyes at Marv. "What did he say?"

"He told me you were a bright, intelligent, young brother dealing with a few things that I might be able to help you with," Cyrus replied. I stole glances over my shoulders, making sure I didn't see anyone I knew.

"Look, man. I don't know what Marvin said to you, or what you may think you know about me, but one thing both of you should know," I said. "I am not going to discuss anything here." Cyrus nodded.

"Understandable," he said. "Truth is, I had no expectations that you would. Marv just wanted us to meet here and get to know each other. That way, if you did decide that I can be of some assistance, you wouldn't feel like you were calling upon a complete stranger."

I relaxed a bit. It was good to know there were no expectations. I felt the constriction in my chest fade, gradually, as the lunch wore on. Cyrus told me that he was 28, originally from Milwaukee, but relocated to the area to attend Washington University some 10 years ago. He came out at the age of 19. "I've been counseling at GMAAD since then," he said.

We avoided talking about GMAAD the rest of the lunch, opting to discuss topics a lot less uncomfortable for me. Cyrus asked me neutral questions about myself--my likes, my interests. He was very easy to talk to; he smiled a lot, was encouraging and seemed to always find the positive, the optimistic way of looking at something.

When the waitress laid our check on the table, I found myself wishing that we could continue chatting. "Listen, young brother. I've really enjoyed conversing with you," Cyrus said as we left The Indigo. "If you're not busy this Friday,the youth group I sponsor is holding a pizza party. You're welcome to drop by. We can talk some more and you can meet a few brothers and sisters your own age."

I didn't say anything. Marv and Cyrus said there good-byes, and Cyrus headed down the street in the opposite direction. "So, what did you think of him?" Marv asked.

"He's cool," I said.

"You interested in going to that pizza party?"

"We'll see," I said as we got in the car...

 

Top

 

|Back To Story Index | Back to Story Archive | Back to Homepage |