A small town outside Billings, Montana March 1966 A blond-haired 15-year-old boy hurried across a street, glancing hastily over his shoulder. Nobody seemed to be following yet, so he let himself relax somewhat as he reached the opposite curb. He was only about halfway home, and in his hurry, his breathing was beginning to come more quickly and occasionally was interrupted by coughing. A cough that had begun earlier in the week had suddenly grown worse today. At least the temperature was in the 40s now, warmer than the previous day when those guys had chased him. He still felt a chill inside his blue plaid coat, though. He stopped to rearrange the books and loose sheets of notebook paper under his left arm, then resumed his hurried pace. He just wanted to get home quickly before anyone bothered him like they had yesterday and the day before, get his homework done and maybe watch some television. He might go to bed early if his cough didn't go away, and if his mother didn't need him to do something around the house. He looked behind him again. No one seemed to be following. Maybe they'd tired of their sport and weren't going to pick on him anymore. He couldn't figure out why they chose him as a target, anyway. He just went to school and tried to remain as invisible as possible. If anybody noticed him, they laughed at him because of how skinny he was, or for his bad complexion, or his late-changing voice. So it was better if they just ignored him. He made pretty good grades, was quietly polite when he had to talk to someone, and attracted as little attention as possible. He used to make really high grades, but noticed that some of the kids resented him when he did that. He hadn't consciously decided to make only average grades, it just sort of happened. And the others did seem to stop disliking him quite so much then. One more glance down the street behind him, and he decided that "they" were leaving him alone today. He breathed a sigh of relief, which turned into another fit of hacking. Then he saw a turquoise 1958 Chevy that just passed him pull over to the curb ahead. He wasn't sure who it belonged to, but he saw it at school and knew it was one of "them." He thought quickly about whether to turn and run, or keep going. He decided to keep walking and pretend to ignore them. After all, maybe it wasn't them. The doors of the Chevy opened and five bodies climbed out, grinning. "Well, hi there, Tom!" Thomas knew the guy with the buzz haircut who emerged from the passenger side of the car as Steve Pittman. He sat on the other side of the room in algebra and made vulgar wisecracks because he knew it would embarrass their female teacher who was just out of college. "How come you left school so fast this afternoon?" "I had to get home," Thomas mumbled, not making eye contact. "What'd you say?" "I said, 'I had to get home,'" Thomas said, more loudly. "Why do you care?" He kept his eyes on the ground straight ahead and tried to keep walking, his heart racing. He really did need to get home. His chest was beginning to hurt. "Hey, hold on there, boy," Steve said, stepping into Thomas' path. "We just came to apologize for yesterday. Least you can do is listen, right?" "Yeah, I'll bet," Thomas said, trying to step around, but Steve moved to block him once more. "Yeah, Tom. We came to apologize. We want you to be our friend!" another boy added, eliciting snickers from the rest of the group. "Yeah, right." "What? What'd you say? We can't hear you, Tommy!" "Nothing! Lemme go!" "Now, Tom, whatsa matter? What're you scared of? All we said was we wanna be your friends!" By now, the five boys surrounded him. Thomas realized he should have just taken off running earlier, but now it was too late. "Hey, Tom, where'd you get this nice coat?" another one whom he knew was named Joe asked. Joe grabbed the back of Thomas' coat collar. Another one took Thomas by the left arm and caused his books and papers to tumble to the ground, catching in the breeze. "Hey!" Thomas screamed, then began to cough again, this time violently. "I said, WHERE'D YOU GET THE COAT, FAGGOT?" Joe yelled, jerking Thomas roughly by the back of his coat collar. A painful, burning cough came repeatedly from deep inside his chest and his knees gave way. "My mom...my mom got it for...for me at KMart..." His sentence was interspersed with coughing, and more coughing followed his attempt to speak. It felt as though his lungs were being ripped from his chest as he sank to the ground. "Well, give it here!" I know you'll let me wear it anytime I want, 'cause you're my new best buddy, right?" The group responded with more laughter, even though Thomas was down on his hands and knees trying to regain his breath. Joe yanked Thomas' arm from the ground and began to pull his coat off of him, while another boy assisted from the other side. The wind felt like icy daggers as it hit Thomas' fevered body. Joe held the coat up in front of the crowd. "Well, isn't this nice? Look, it's purty plaid!" He removed his own jacket and tried to put it on. "Aw shucks! It's too little!" The others roared with laughter, as if that were the cleverest thing anyone ever said. The coat was far too small for Joe, as Thomas was shorter and lighter than any of the group. The sleeves were too tight and short for his arms. He removed the coat and threw it to a taller and heavier boy who began to try to pull a sleeve over his arm. Thomas, still on his knees, was attempting to gather his books and pens. Most of his papers drifted across the street in the cool breeze. His face was pale, and he was visibly shivering. "Hey, Mason! See if you can make it fit!" Steve Pittman pulled out a pocketknife and threw it to the boy with the coat who caught it and flipped it open. Thomas looked up from where he was trying to put papers back into a red folder. "Hey! No!" He began to cough again. He dropped his papers as his hand covered his mouth. Mason pulled the tight sleeve off his arm and turned the worn lining toward him. He stabbed the knife through the lining and thick wool of the coat. Chuckling, he began to rip the knife down the back of the garment as the others around him yelled encouragement. "Danny, don't!" Thomas yelled, rising to his feet and diving at Danny Mason. Steve stepped between them and shoved Thomas' shoulder, knocking him back out of the way. As their sport had become more frenzied, none of the bullies noticed another student who emerged from a nearby alley. "Hey! What're you guys doing?" The dark-haired newcomer was as tall as Danny, and appeared to be a couple of years older. He was scowling and striding rapidly toward the group. In their surprise, the gang stopped their activity and stared sheepishly. "Just havin' some fun with lil Tommy here," Steve said, smiling weakly. "Yeah, well, just get out of here. Go on home!" "And who's tellin' us to do that?" Steve tried to demand. "Me, Steve! Now go on! Beat it!" the stranger hollered. "Shit," Steve muttered. "We were leaving, anyway..." They all moved back toward the Chevy. "Hey, Gage, have fun with your little fag friend!" Joe called as he shut the door. The car peeled off down the street as Gage watched. Gage stepped to the curb and picked up a handful of papers that were lying in the gutter. As he brought them to Thomas, he asked, "You okay?" "Yeah. Um...why did they leave?" "Why? Oh...they're just cowards. Bullies who always pick on people they know won't fight back. Guess they thought you'd be an easy target, huh?" Gage gave a friendly, lopsided grin. Thomas thought they'd been right, but said nothing. He felt another coughing fit coming on. He reached down to pick up what was left of his coat. He found that the cut started about five inches below the collar and continued all the way down the back. He groaned as he saw that it was sliced almost in two. "What? Aw, man!" Gage said as he saw it from where he picked up a green pen. The groan had been enough to set off more coughing. Thomas dropped the coat and doubled over. His new friend hastily jammed the pen into his jean's pocket and rushed to help him. "Man, that sounds pretty bad. Just sit here and I'll get the rest of your stuff." Thomas just nodded and sat on the curb. He was feeling miserable and cold, and figured it would be all he could do to make it the last two blocks home. "Your name's Tom?" "Thomas." "Oh, sorry, Thomas. I saw it on some of your papers." Gage began pulling off his own fringed buckskin jacket as he saw Thomas shiver. "My name's Johnny. Here, I'm not cold. You might as well wear this." Even though Johnny was slender, his jacket was too large for Thomas. It was also thinner than Thomas' coat was, but it was warm with Johnny's body heat and felt wonderful against the wind. Johnny looked into his fevered face, and for the first time was alarmed by its paleness. "Uh...I've got a better idea. Let's put your coat on, then mine over it. It'll at least give you some insulation," Johnny said. Thomas was only nodding his agreement to Johnny's suggestions. His last bout of coughing left him weakened. When Johnny gathered all he could find of Thomas' possessions, the two began walking together toward Thomas' home. Johnny knew Thomas needed the extra warmth of his jacket the last two blocks of the journey, so he went along to retrieve his jacket once they got to Thomas' house. He also figured that with him along, Thomas wouldn't have to worry about that carload of punks coming back for some more "fun." "So Thomas, what do you like in school." Thomas coughed a bit before answering. "I really like Chemistry, but the fumes bother my lungs." "Why are your lungs so bad, if you don't mind me askin?" "When I was little, the house I grew up in burned down. We were all asleep and the firemen had a tough time getting us all out. The docs said I ate too much smoke. Plus I already had an asthma condition, so it just made it worse." Thomas looked up at Johnny shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Then another wave of coughing overtook him. "Wow, that's horrible." That's all Johnny could think to say. They continued to walk in silence for another mile. "I live there, Johnny," Thomas pointed to a house in the distance. He started to take the coat off. "Nah, you keep it. I'll pick it up later." Johnny said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "You trust me?" Thomas asked. Johnny pulled the green pen out of his pocket. "Sure I do. Plus, I'll keep your pen until I get my coat back. Deal?" Johnny offered his hand. Thomas smiled, "deal." Johnny watched Thomas walk to his house. Sure it was cold, but Johnny was used to it. He figured he'd stop by over the weekend to get his coat back. But, Johnny never had the chance to pick up his coat, as work on the ranch kept him busy. A week after the incident, Johnny ran into Joe. "Hey Gage, sorry about your fag friend." Johnny looked at Joe. "What?" "I said, sorry about your friend Tommy." "Whaddya mean?" Johnny asked grabbing Joe by the shirt collar. "I guess you didn't hear. He died over the weekend. Something about he couldn't breathe. By the time the ambulance got to him, he was blue." "What are you saying?" Johnny asked, not believing what he heard. "Your fag friend, Thomas is dead." Joe reached up to remove Johnny's hand from his neck. "Get the hell off of me." Joe moved away. Johnny leaned against his locker and bit his lip. He felt weak in the knees He had every intention of seeing Thomas, but just couldn't. His life didn't allow him the time. And now, he would never see he him again. He reached into his pocket and took the green pen out and instinctively put it in his mouth. When he realized what he was doing he took the pen out of his mouth and looked at it. He moved it into his shirt pocket and tucked it in there for safekeeping. Author's notes: Janet, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!!! I'm sorry it takes so much energy from you to get a story out of me, but you'll never know how grateful I am that you're willing to give it. You're an angel for all of us who want to write! - Holly |