Published: 21 May 2020

Bryan (7903)

University Library, Chicago, Illinois, Earth Analogue

“So, what’s that?” A husky tenor voice interrupted my thoughts. I looked up, blinked, and saw a boy pointing to the open book on the table.

The boy’s eyes widened and he stepped back. “Sorry,” he stuttered. “I shouldn’t have interrupted.” He must have thought I was angry.

“I’m not mad,” I said. “Just startled. Sometimes I get lost in my own head.”

The boy giggled.

“That,” I said, answering his question, “is a sea bear or Echiniscus blumi.”

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” he said. “So, where does it live?”

“In a drop of water. The sea bear is less than a millimeter wide. That’s a photomicrograph.”

“So, do you mean a microphotograph?”

“A microphotograph would sound better, but that means a tiny picture. This is a picture of a tiny thing. A photomicrograph.”

The boy giggled again. “So, are you a scientist?”

“A scientist and a science writer. I do research, I teach a couple of classes at the university, and I write scripts for TV shows.”

“Way cool! So, do you make lots of money?”

“Well, enough to keep me in test tubes.”

He giggled again. “You’re funny.”

“My name is Paul,” I said, and raised my eyebrows.

“Um, Bryan,” he replied.

“Bryan, would you do me a favor?”

His nose flared and his mouth tightened. Uh oh, I thought. I may have crossed a line.

“What kind of favor,” Bryan asked. His voice had lowered nearly an octave.

“You started nearly every with ‘so,’” I said. “The favor I ask is that you think about what you’re going to say, and try to say it without saying so.”

Now, Bryan’s eyebrows were raised. “I do? And why should you care?”

Now it was my turn to giggle. Well, laugh. At twenty-three, I didn’t think I should be giggling, even when talking to a twelve-year-old.

“Yes, you do, and I know it’s unconscious, and I know you’re imitating what you hear. And I care because I’m tired of hearing people talk that way and because …” I paused. “Because it may help you be a better communicator, and that’s important in many ways.”

The boy nodded. “Thank you. I’ll work on it. And thank you for telling me about the sea bear—Echiniscus blumi. I’ve got to go.”

He turned and walked away.

The next day, Bryan brought his schoolwork to the table, and asked if he might sit across from me.

“Sure,” I said. I started to say it’s a free country, meaning he could sit anywhere he wanted. I didn’t say that for two reasons. First, it would have been a flip answer to what I saw as a reasonable question. Second, I wasn’t so sure the country was very free, any more. The USA Patriot Act, passed in an orgy of fear and recrimination after the events of September 11, 2001, had been extended and expanded to the point that a positive photo ID was required in order to check out a library book. I knew that the checkout records were sent to DHS – the Department of Homeland Security.

I told Bryan, sure.

We both worked quietly until Bryan’s pencil hit the table with enough force to make it bounce over the screen of my laptop and onto the keyboard. I backspaced over the j that had appeared on the screen, picked up the pencil, and lowered the screen.

“Bryan?” That’s all I said. I held out the pencil.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that I don’t get this binomial thing! What’s it good for, anyway?”

“Do you mean the binomial theorem?”

He nodded.

“Are you multiplying or factoring?”

“Factoring? You mean after I figure out how to multiply these things I’m going to have to factor them? What’s factor, anyway?”

“Bryan, thank you.” He tilted his head and looked at me from the top of his eyes. “You asked three questions,” I said. “Four if you count the one-word question, without once saying so.”

He giggled and ducked his head into his chest. “I’ve been practicing.”

It took less than two minutes to show Bryan the FOIL method of multiplying a pair of binomial expressions: First-Outer-Inner-Last. He worked three problems, and then asked, “Why don’t they tell us this?”

“Don’t know,” I said. “What did they tell you?”

It turned out, they, meaning his algebra teacher, didn’t tell them very much at all. Later, I did some research and found that the binomial theorem, while still in the text books, didn’t appear on the standardized math tests which determined the funding public schools received, and I understood why they didn’t teach it.

I did try to answer Bryan’s second question: of what use was this part of math?

“I remember using it in calculus and analytic geometry. I remember especially that factoring was important in discussing imaginary numbers. If I’d gone into engineering, I might have needed it. Since you don’t know what you want to do when you grow up, maybe you should learn it, just in case.”

“But I do know what I want to do!” Bryan said. “Well, not exactly, but I want to explore and discover and find new things.”

“You mean, exploring jungles and places like that?”

“No,” he said. “I know they’re all gone. I know that’s why the weather is so unpredictable and the air is getting harder and harder to breathe. I’m thinking about exploring under the sea … Earth is covered seventy percent with water, you know, and some of the deepest parts of the ocean are nearly eleven kilometers below the surface? That’s the Mariana Trench.”

His eyes lit with excitement, and I think he’d be talking still if the chime hadn’t sounded to announce the library’s closing.

The next evening, I was immersed in writing when a cough pulled me back to the real world. Bryan stood across the table from me.

“Didn’t want to scare you like I did, before,” he said.

“Not scared,” I said. “Not scared of you, anyway. Just startled. Are you going to sit?”

He did, and opened his books and spread papers. I was about to return to my work when he spoke.

“Do you think I could be an explorer? Undersea, I mean?”

I thought for a moment. The only ones funding undersea research were a couple of oil companies, hoping to find enough oil to keep the world running for a few more years. But they were running out of places to explore. The Barbados Bust had taken all but two of the major oil companies down with it. And those two were on the verge of bankruptcy, taxed nearly into oblivion by the government’s “gotta pay your fair share” policy. And, pure research? No such thing, any more. If it couldn’t make money or a more powerful weapon – and quickly – no one had any use for it.

“There may be opportunities,” I said. “A couple of oil companies are still looking at the sea. The military does some stuff, but it’s all classified.”

“Maybe. You mean no, don’t you?” he asked.

“No. I mean maybe, but the chances are small. You’d have to prove yourself, academically, physically, mentally, emotionally. You’d have to stand well above your contemporaries. And, you’d have to have a lot of luck. Maybe.

“Bryan, please tell me I haven’t killed your dream?”

“Why? Why should I tell you, and why would you care?”

“Because I would never deliberately do something to harm you. I may have harmed you by accident, by being too forthright, by thinking it was more important to show off my knowledge than to give you encouragement. I have done a bad thing, and I want to be forgiven.”

Bryan closed his books. “I really didn’t have any homework, tonight. I just came here to talk to you. We talked. Thank you for that.”

He picked up his books, and walked away. I felt an ache in my heart. I looked into myself to see the reason for it. It wasn’t because of what I’d said to him; it was because I knew I would never see him again.

I was wrong. The next evening at his usual time Bryan appeared across the table from me. I was inordinately happy, and began the conversation.

“Hi, Bryan. I was afraid … I thought, I mean, that you’d not come back, after what I did yesterday.”

“You told me what I needed to hear,” he said. “You talked to me like I wasn’t a kid.

“Paul.” It was the first time he’d used my name. “Nobody’s ever talked to me like you did. You told me what I had to hear. If you hadn’t told me the truth, it would have hurt more.

“What happened yesterday was a little hurt compared to what I’d have found later. I think it is time for me to find a new dream. I think I always knew that, but you made it clear. I won’t forgive you, because there’s nothing to forgive. If you need to be forgiven, then you have to forgive yourself.”

“I understand,” I said. I closed the screen on the laptop. “May we talk about your dreams?”

Bryan and I talked until the chime sounded. That is, he talked, and I listened, interjecting an occasional um hum or question to let him know I was listening, and to keep him talking.

Bryan and I continued to meet every weekday night at the library. Sometimes, we barely spoke. Sometimes we worked together on one of my projects; sometimes I helped him with his homework.

An October snowstorm had caused the university to suspend classes, but the library remained open. Bryan shrugged off his coat, slapped his hands together to warm them, and asked me, “What’s wrong?”

“Why do you think something’s wrong?” I asked.

“Your lips are pressed together so tightly there’s no color in them.”

“Could be I’m just concentrating on something,” I said.

“No, when you’re concentrating, you scrunch up your forehead. This is different. It’s something else.”

Bryan was right. It was something else. It was anger. One of my TV scripts had been rejected, not on scientific grounds, but because it discussed proofs of evolution and disproved two of the central arguments of the creationists. (There are, indeed, transitional fossils, despite the creationists’ denials; and, the theory of evolution is, indeed, testable and falsifiable.) The network was afraid of a backlash. After nearly every woman’s health clinic even remotely suspected of providing abortions, abortion counseling – even contraception – had been bombed by right wing, self-proclaimed Christians, I understood the network’s reasoning. I didn’t approve of it and I didn’t agree with it; but I understood it.

I gave Bryan the short version of what I was thinking. He asked if he could see the script.

“I’ve never read a script, before. I read your blog, though. You say a lot of interesting things.”

“Thank you, Bryan. May I email you a copy of the script?”

Bryan was quick to reject that notion. “No, I … I’m not allowed to get email from people my father doesn’t know,” he said.

We agreed that I would post a copy in the cloud. I gave him an address and a password. And forgot all about it.

Around Thanksgiving, things got rough in the city. Flash mobs, brought together by social media and instant electronic communications appeared seemingly at random on major streets. Random, except that the mobs always seemed to form near stores carrying expensive stuff like designer clothes and electronics – and the stores always seemed to get looted.

“Bryan? Do you have a safe way home?” I asked one night. “It’s dangerous on the streets, even on public transportation.”

“Yes. My father is on the faculty. We live on campus.”

I was reassured by what he said. I wished, later, that I’d picked up on how he said, father. It might have saved some pain and grief. However, it also might have kept the good that happened from happening.

Two days later I saw Bryan again at the library. I had been there the next day, but Bryan wasn’t. Today, he was sporting a very black eye and a bruised cheek.

He sat down across the table from me, but didn’t say a word.

“Bryan,” I said. “What happened?”

“I fell down the stairs. I hit my face on a doorknob. I am clumsy,” he said. The husky tenor was nearly a soprano. He looked down and to his right. I knew from his voice tone and body language he was lying. There are some unusual perquisites to being a science writer. I had written a couple of programs about body language and police interrogation techniques, and knew what to look for. I had known Bryan long enough to know what his normal responses were. These were not normal.

I was afraid of crossing another line, but did so, anyway.

“Bryan? For the past several weeks, I have thought we might become friends. Friends tell each other the truth.” That’s all I said. Now, it was up to him.

“You think I’m lying?” he said.

“I think you’re not telling the truth. I won’t say, lying, because that’s an ugly word, and friends don’t call each other ugly things.”

The boy was quiet for a long time. I looked back at the screen of my laptop. It had gone dark … the mandatory energy conservation program had put it to sleep. I was about to hit a key to wake it up, when Bryan spoke.

“You must not tell anyone,” he said.

He didn’t ask me to promise, and he didn’t ask it as a condition of telling. I nodded. That seemed to be good enough.

“The sperm donor who calls himself my father hit me.”

A lot of anger, there, but also a sense of resignation, as if he believed there were no other way to live, and no other way to show anger.

I nodded again, hoping that would encourage him to keep talking. It didn’t. I asked, “Bryan? Will you tell me why he hit you?”

“He caught me masturbating.”

“More than that, I think.”

The boy’s eyes, which had been looking through me and the wall behind me and maybe past the entire city of Chicago, snapped into focus.

“I was looking at a picture …” His voice dropped so low I could barely hear him. “A picture of Justin B_____. I am queer.”

“Justin B_____?” I said. “Good choice. There are probably a million people, girls and boys, who every day masturbate thinking about him or looking at his picture.”

“Huh?” He paused. His eyes swept back and forth. He was thinking. “Good choice? You think it’s okay for a boy to masturbate while thinking about another boy?”

The line I was about to cross was a Rubicon, but if I could help this kid, it would be worth it.

“Yes, Bryan, it’s okay and not unnatural for a boy, especially around your age, to have same-sex fantasies and to engage in same-sex experimentation. Your sexuality may not become clear until you’re sixteen or eighteen. You’re about twelve, right?”

“No. Eighteen,” he said. “And I know I’m queer.”

I experienced an epiphany. “Bryan, you are short of stature, you have no facial hair, nor any on your arms. I assumed you were perhaps twelve years old. You talk to me as if you were older. But I never realized that you were so much older.”

“Yes,” he said. “My father is Chinese; my mother, Laotian. They are both small, therefore, I am small. Sometimes it bothers me I am not tall, like you. Sometimes it bothers me that I cannot grow hair on my face or my body. Sometimes it bothers me that people treat me as if I were the twelve-year-old I appear to be.

“But you never did this. You never talked down to me, you never treated me like a child, even though you had every reason to believe I was a child. Thank you. Oh, and you have no facial hair, either, but I know you must be more than twelve.” He giggled. It was a brief giggle, but it was a giggle.

“Bryan, I have another favor to ask. Please don’t call yourself, or anyone else, queer. That word is loaded with negative feelings. You can feel the hurt when you say it, and when you say it about yourself. It’s one of those ugly words that friends don’t call each other – or themselves.”

Bryan nodded. “I don’t like gay, either. Too many people use that word in a bad way, too. Those guys who do Southpark have made it mean bad. And homosexual sounds too much like a scientist.” He blushed. “I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

I laughed, and Bryan giggled again. Now, I thought, we can talk more easily.

The laughter and giggles open a faucet, and Bryan talked non-stop. He told me about growing up in the harsh home of a “Tiger Father.”

“My mother divorced him, and returned to Laos. My father is so determined that I succeed academically and physically that he allows nothing to interfere. He plans every moment I am not in school or at the library. He drills me in the morning; tutors drill me in the afternoon and on weekends. I attend martial arts classes seven days a week from four until six. Weeknights, he has an evening class, so I may go to the library. The few hours I spend here are the only free time I have. And he quizzes me on what I did, and sometimes makes me show my homework.”

“What about your friends?” I asked. I was almost afraid to do so. I was right to be afraid.

“I have no friends. I have study partners with whom I eat lunch on school days. I have sparing partners at the martial arts class. I know their names, but nothing else about them.

“The only reason I have time to talk to you is that I am smarter than he knows, smarter than he thinks I am. I can do my homework, even the extra he assigns, in half the time he thinks I should. That gives me nearly two hours a day to talk to you.”

At 8:45, the chime announced the imminent closing of the library. Flash mobs had closed streets the past two nights, and one had managed to get on campus; I asked Bryan if he had a way home.

The camaraderie we had shared disappeared and his face turned to stone. “I’m not going home. The next time he hits me, he will kill me.”

The boy’s body language said he believed what he was saying. His fear seemed real.

“Bryan? May I call a friend who will help you?”

“Is he a policeman?”

I shook my head.

“Is he a social worker?”

Again, I shook my head.

“Is he a priest?”

“No.”

“What is he?”

I crossed my fingers. “He’s a god,” I said. “He is Asclepius, the Greek god of healing.”

“Friends tell each other the truth,” Bryan said.

I looked directly into his eyes. “Yes, we do.”

Bryan had accepted my offer to take him to a god for help. He may not have believed the part about a god, but he seemed to trust me. Perhaps because his other options were limited: go home where he believed his father would kill him, or sleep on the streets where he would be killed – or worse. Perhaps he thought I was crazy. Perhaps he thought my offer was the lesser of three evils. Perhaps he saw something: a lifeline I had thrown. It was a waste of time to guess his motivation. I punched the button on my cell phone that would connect me with Richard Brooks, the new Asclepius.

It was late, but Richard told me to come to his home. I knew he and the others could slip in time, but still asked, “What about Zhang? Will we wake him?”

“Zhang is spending the night at Erewhon with Artie,” Richard said. Erewhon was the orphanage run by Gary, once a baseball star and an army captain, now a god: the Protector of Children. Yeah, I knew a couple of gods.

Despite the cold air in the elevator, Bryan was sweating. His face was pale. He was hanging on by a thread. I wanted to hug reassurance to him, but I didn’t think this was the time.

I held my keys in my right hand while we walked through the parking garage under the library. My left hand was in my pants pocket on the butt of the Beretta in the quick-draw holster. The University Library was supposed to be a safe place but safe no longer meant what it once did.

My seven-year-old SUV wasn’t much to look at, and I felt Bryan’s puzzlement. I remembered – he knew I wrote TV scripts and taught at the university. I guess he thought I could afford better. I waited until we were in the vehicle, doors locked, engine running, and transmission in gear, before I said anything.

“People are less likely to burglarize an older vehicle. The tires are filled with foam rather than air, and cannot be flattened by gunfire. The windows are not bulletproof, but will stop about anything short of a cop-killer round. The doors and floorboards are reinforced with steel plate, and a private version of the On-Star system is activated by that button…” I pointed “… or in the event of a collision.

“And the engine? It’s from a Crown Vic.”

Bryan’s distain turned to puzzlement. “Why?”

I knew what he meant.

“Because things are falling apart,” I said. “Because the police who aren’t corrupt are nearly powerless. Because I’m living in this world and because I hope I can make a difference while I’m here.”

“What kind of difference can you make?” Bryan asked.

“It’s a long story,” I said. “I’m not sure I can tell it in the time it will take us to get to Richard’s home. But I promise to tell you.”

“Richard? I thought you said we were going to meet a god! A god named Richard?” His voice quivered. This was more than puzzlement; there was a hint of fear.

“Yes, Richard. He’s also Asclepius.”

“Huh?”

“Asclepius, the son of Apollo. He was Richard Brooks before the old god gave him his Abilities – his powers.

“His son and boyfriend is Zhang, but Zhang is spending the night with a friend.”

“Son … and boyfriend?” Bryan was visibly nervous: his shoulders shook. I thought he might be crying.

“Bryan? Please trust me for a little longer. You’re going to see things that will be hard to believe. Please trust me that they are all true, they are all good, I will explain them, and you will understand?”

Bryan’s head seemed to shrink into the collar of his coat, as if he were a box turtle retreating into its shell.

“Yeah,” he said.

I was hoping for a little more enthusiasm than that single-word answer offered. But, it would have to do.

Richard lived in a walled and gated community north of the city. The entrance had a double gate – a mantrap. We were allowed to enter the first gate, but then were held between the two gates. A television camera, speaker and microphone extended on a boom from the guardhouse. I knew what to expect, and held up my ID.

“I am Paul Kendrick. I vouch for my guest, Bryan …

“Bryan! What’s your last name?”

He giggled. “Sen, Bryan Nicholas Sen.”

“Nickolas? From the German meaning a mischievous spirit. I should have guessed.”

He giggled, again.

“I vouch for my guest, Bryan Sen.”

Richard had left the garage door open, but I knew he was watching to make sure it was I and not a bad guy who drove in. The overhead door closed as soon as my bumper cleared the electric eye. Richard stepped into the garage.

“Hello, Paul, and welcome Bryan,” he said.

“Paul didn’t tell you my name,” Bryan said. “I was listening. How did you know?”

Richard raised his eyebrows in surprise. He looked at me when he spoke. “He is smart and observant. Do you think he’s a keeper?”

“Yes,” I said. I put my arm around Bryan’s shoulders. “We have become friends. He’s given me the gift of his trust. Yes, he’s a keeper.”

I spoke quietly to Bryan. “I mean that, Bryan. I am your friend. You have given me the greatest gift a person can give another, the gift of your trust. I won’t ever abandon you.” I sensed, more than saw, Bryan’s nod and felt him relax—a little.

Richard took us into his den.

“Bryan? I’m a doctor,” Richard said. “Well, not a member of the AMA, but my practice is a lot older than they are.

“May I look at your face?”

Bryan nodded. Richard touched the boy’s face several places.

“You have a lot of swelling. Your cheekbone is broken. The bruise holds a lot of dead blood. Usually, a bruise will disappear slowly as the dead blood is carried away by normal processes. There’s always the danger, however, that some of the dead blood will find its way into a tiny capillary in the brain or the heart, and cause damage: stroke or heart attack. I can fix all of this.

“You feel pain. I can remove that.

“But I will not do these things unless you say it’s okay.”

Bryan looked at me. I knew what he wanted to ask: Do you trust him? I nodded.

“Yes, please?”

Bryan

Richard touched my cheek. I felt the bone move. There was one sharp pain, and then all the pain was gone. I felt my face relax. I also felt something more—something that flowed through Richard’s fingers into my body. It was like a river of electricity, but it didn’t shock me. Whether Richard were a god or not, he was something more than human.

“It will be completed by morning,” Richard said. “It could be done faster, but it seems to work better if the body takes part in its own healing.

“You two must stay here,” he added. “The police have reported a flash mob on Geary Street. There is no safe way for you to get home, tonight. I have only one guest room … Zhang is not here … Bryan can sleep in Zhang’s bed…?”

My tummy curled up when he said that. I didn’t want to be by myself, especially in a strange place.

“Please, no,” I said. “After all that has happened, I do not wish to be alone.”

It took only an instant to form the next sentence: “Paul? May I sleep with you?”

Paul

Richard showed us to his guest room, and brought a pair of his pajamas for me and a pair of Zhang’s for Bryan.

“Bryan? Why don’t you shower, and put on pjs. I’ll do the same, after you’re finished.”

Bryan nodded. He made short shrift of the shower and came back in a set of Zhang’s pajamas. They were yellow, with cartoon caricatures of a coyote and a roadrunner. I looked at the set I’d been given. They were plain and gray. I thought I was going to be okay until I saw the image of a Star Trek communicator on the left breast, and the triple circles of a captain on the collar. Sigh.

“Paul? Will you cuddle me?” Bryan asked. There was a little quiver in his voice. Anxiety? Desire? Surely, not lust, I thought. I didn’t know, but I felt his request was genuine and pure.

“Of course,” I said. “That’s part of what it means to be friends.”

Bryan and I both slept well that night, and I woke with a boy in cartoon pajamas in my arms the next morning.

Maria was in the kitchen when Bryan and I came in for breakfast. Maria and her two boys lived in an apartment over the garage.

“Mr. Richard, he has gone already,” she said. “I have the bacon and the sausage for you, and will prepare the huevos … the eggs. Also, there will be biscuits. I wanted to make tortillas, but Mr. Richard said to stick with biscuits, today.

“What means, stick with?”

“Good morning, Maria. This is Bryan, a new friend. To stick with the way Mr. Richard said it means to do nothing new. However, your tortillas aren’t exactly new to me and I’ll bet that Bryan would like to try them.”

Maria smiled, and mixed flour, salt, baking powder, lard, and water for tortillas.

“How do you feel?” I asked Bryan.

“Good,” he said. “Really good. I … I liked sleeping and cuddling with you.”

“And I liked sleeping and cuddling with you,” I said. “How does your face feel?”

The bruise on Bryan’s face was gone. I knew the broken cheekbone also would have been healed. I looked closely, not to be sure Richard hadn’t missed anything, but because Bryan was pleasant to look at. I saw the sharp demarcation between his black hair and the smooth surfaces of his face and neck. He saw what I was doing, and grinned – a grin made of straight, white teeth. I looked into his eyes. I must have been staring, because Bryan knew what I was wondering about.

“The scars are there, but you must look closely,” he said. “My father had the epicanthic fold removed surgically when I was eight. It was not, as some assert, to allow more light to reach my eyes. It was part of what he was grooming me to be. I do not know, even today, what that was. I hope I will never find out.”

After breakfast, while Maria cleaned up, we carried coffee into the living room. I took Bryan’s hand and sat him beside me. Richard had returned, and sat across the room from us. He began the discussion.

“Bryan, you have been healed. You know this was not done in any way known to you. You have been rescued from a very bad situation. We can help you, Paul and I. But first, we must know from you: what next? What do you want to happen?”

Bryan nodded, slowly. When he finally spoke, he challenged Richard. “No one ever asked me what I wanted. Why are you asking, and why should I believe you?”

I started to protest, but Richard held up his hand.

“Those are good questions, Bryan. In order to answer them, I need to know your answer. What do you want?”

We were silent while Bryan thought.

“It is not what I want, so much as what I do not want,” he said. “I do not want ever to go back to the man who thinks he is my father. I do not want ever again to be hit. I do not want ever again to be called queer, which Paul says is an ugly word. I do not want ever again to be alone.

“I’m sorry. I do not know what I want, only what I do not want.”

Richard nodded, and then looked at me. I could feel him in my mind. He told me I would have to answer. Son of a bitch, I thought. Not at Richard, but at the responsibility I was about to take on. That was my first reaction. Then, as I thought, a glow came to me, a glow that told me not only was this right, but also was meant to be. I was immeasurably happy as I spoke. There may have been a few tears in my eyes, too.

“Bryan,” I said. “Everything you don’t want has a want. I believe you want to find a new father who loves you and who will never hit you. I believe you want friends who will accept and love you. I believe you want to live in a place that is safe, and welcoming.

“If you will let me, I will try with all I have to make that happen. I will love you; I will be the father you want. I will never hurt you. I will love you as you are. I will accept you, and help you find your dream. If you will let me.”

There, I had done it. That was all I could do: make the offer. The rest was up to Bryan.

Bryan answered when he turned and buried himself in my side. I put my arms around him. I felt him crying, but they were happy tears.

“Paul, I love you. I will be your son.

“I’m eighteen, so I guess you can’t adopt me, but in every other way, I will be your son.

“Oh, and are you gay, or is that a pistol in your pocket?” Bryan giggled. Yeah, he was eighteen, looked twelve, and giggled. Richard sputtered coffee onto his trousers. He frowned. The coffee disappeared.

“Yes,” I said.

“Huh? Which?” Bryan asked.

“Was that an exclusive or? I thought it was inclusive.

“Bryan, I’m gay and I have a pistol in my pocket.

“And, if you want me to adopt you, to make you my son in the eyes of the law as well as in our own hearts, I’ll bet that can be arranged.”

Richard contacted Aiden who came with a bunch of papers for me to sign. As usual, he was one step ahead of the adults, and had already gotten Bryan’s father to sign some papers, too. When we were finished, Bryan was my son. Didn’t matter he was eighteen and I was a single guy only five years older than he was. It’s good to have friends who are gods!

Bryan and Aiden

“How’d you get the sperm donor who was my biological father to sign the papers?” Bryan asked. He and Aiden were in the kitchen making sandwiches. Paul and Richard were in Richard’s office. They had warned the boys not to eat too much lunch, since they would be going out for supper. (Waste of breath, telling two boys not to eat too much.)

“Easy, Gary and Nemesis talked to your father. Showed him the options. Made sure—”

“Gary? Nemesis?” Bryan asked. “Who are they? Social workers or something?”

Aiden grinned. “Yeah, like X-Person Social Workers. They’re gods, like Richard.”

Bryan’s face scrunched up. Aiden saw, and wondered. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Paul told me he was going to take me to see a god named Richard, and I know now he was telling the truth. Richard healed my face. You came here with papers that I couldn’t believe my father would ever sign. I know something is different. Now you’re telling me two more gods got involved? I don’t understand!”

“Hey, Big Brother, I know it’s not easy,” Aiden said.

“Why do you call me big brother?” Bryan asked.

“’Cause you are. I mean, Paul adopted you, and Paul and Richard are brothers, and Richard and Gary are brothers, and Gary—”

“Stop! This isn’t helping! Who are these people?”

“Okay, I’ll go slow. Do you want to take notes?” Aiden pulled a fourteen-inch, yellow, ruled, writing pad from his dispatch case. Bryan shook his head. Aiden began.

“Richard is Asclepius, god of healing, but you know that. Zhang is Richard’s adopted son and boyfriend, and he’s getting powers, too. Gary is Protector of Children. That was an Attribute of Artemis, and you mustn’t ever mention Artemis to Dike. Gary’s adopted son and boyfriend is Nemesis. He’s the god of retribution. Gary and Richard are like brothers but not boyfriends – not yet, anyway. Also in Chicago is my boyfriend, Casey. His brother—”

“Sons and boyfriends? Is everyone gay? Is that okay?”

“Well,” Aiden said. “Not everyone is gay. I don’t think Caden is – he’s Apollo and doesn’t have a boyfriend. But, yes, it’s okay. Even the sons part of it. You’ll have to ask Paul to give you the talk.”

“You mean ‘the birds and the bees’? I know about that …”

“More like ‘the boys and the boys,’” Aiden said. He giggled. “Let me finish.

“Casey’s brother Calvin lives on their ranch in Texas. We visit on weekends and some days just to skinny-dip in the lake. Calvin’s boyfriends are Kevin and Bobby. The three of them are the Norns: Norse-German gods. Very powerful when they’re together. Their daddy is Uncle George, who’s … um … the avatar of Death. He’s a real nice guy, though! And he’s Calvin and Kevin’s boyfriend, and will be Bobby’s when Bobby’s a little older. Even though he won’t seem to get older since he’s a god. And Uncle George and Gary are such good friends they might as well be brothers, so Casey, Calvin, Kevin, and Bobby are your brothers, too.”

“Cousins, I think,” Bryan said.

Aiden drew back and sat straighter. “I am the Patron of Lawyers, which means I have to get all the adoption papers taken care of and stuff like that. I got my powers from Athena. She’s awesome! And that means I get to say we’re brothers, and not cousins.”

“Okay, okay!” Bryan said, and giggled. Then his face went slack. “I’ve never had friends, or cousins, or brothers. Now, I’ve got a lot of brothers.”

“You’re worried that they won’t like you.” Aiden guessed.

Bryan nodded.

“Please don’t worry; they’ll love you, just like Paul loves you. You know he loves you, don’t you? I could see it. It usually takes a while to become friends, and more time to love someone. Well, except when something happens like you and Paul, or Richard and Zhang who fell in love the first time they saw each other. Well, the second time, really. The first time, Zhang was technically dead until Uncle George reset…”

Bryan’s eyes looked as if he were staring into infinity.

“TMI, huh?” Aiden asked.

Bryan nodded.

“Okay, I’ll just finish the who’s who: Calvin is Casey’s big brother and Casey is my boyfriend and he lives here, with me in Gary’s apartment. My biological father is a judge, but I don’t see him, except on business. Gary adopted Casey and me. The most powerful one is Dike. She’s the god of justice and she’s a judge. She lives here in Chicago, too, but could be on the Supreme Court, if she wanted. Actually, the most powerful is Zeus, but we never see him.”

Bryan thought for a minute. “And Paul? What about Paul?”

Aiden got a far-away look. “He’s going to be something important. I think Dike knows, but she won’t say. The words of the gods shape reality, and they don’t talk about what people are becoming, or what will happen to us.”

Aiden left after lunch. “I’ve got to draw up some custody papers for a kid in North Carolina,” he said. “And then help Colin – he lives in Toronto – protect his trust fund from his step-mother. I’ll meet you at supper, big brother.”

Aiden grinned, gave Bryan a kiss on his cheek, and disappeared.

Bryan sat quietly for several seconds. “Did that really happen?”

Paul’s arm slid around Bryan’s waist. “Yes, it did. Aiden told you who some of our friends, boyfriends, and brothers are.”

“Some of them?” Bryan’s eyes started to get a far-away look.”

“Um, hmm. You’ll meet them, and others, but not all at once. You have some questions. Maybe you and I should talk a little bit.”

“You told me I was going to see a lot of things that would be hard to believe. You told me they were real, and you would explain them.”

Paul answered Bryan’s unspoken question. “Yes, they are and I will.”

“Then, explanations can wait. This afternoon, I would like to take a nap. We only slept five hours, last night. I need a nap. I would also like to explore our relationship. Will you nap and cuddle with me?”

Paul nodded.

Paul

We both eschewed pajamas. The room was warm, and we needed no covers. We lay on the bed, side by side, facing one another.

“Have you ever explored with another boy?” I asked.

“No, but I have a complete understanding of the mechanisms,” Bryan said. “The internet is full of examples, on both medical and pornographic web sites. I want to explore only a limited subset of what I have seen. We should begin with kissing, fondling, and, if it seems appropriate after that, fellatio. Do you agree?”

To answer him, I brushed my lips over his. I felt his erection poke my tummy, and felt mine prodding his legs. He lifted one leg and trapped my erection between his legs before returning the kiss. He pulled our heads together so our lips pressed tightly.

I stroked his buttocks briefly, and then pulled them toward me. I felt his penis slip upward to lie flat between our tummies. I also felt Bryan getting too excited. I broke contact, and propped myself up on one arm.

“What’s wrong?” Bryan asked.

“Nothing is wrong, except you were about to cum, and that would have put short our exploration.”

Bryan nodded. He looked at me from the brown hair atop my head to the nails on my toes, pausing several times along the way.

“You have no body hair, either,” he said. “Why?”

“Richard also does cosmetic surgery,” I said, and chuckled. “I never liked body hair. He understood that, and removed it. Permanently.”

“Your penis is, I think, of average size,” Bryan said.

“If you’re thinking of the porn sites you used to watch, then you probably mean, ‘small,’” I said.

Bryan giggled. “No. I accounted for that. I just wondered why you didn’t ask Richard to make it bigger.”

“Actually,” I said. “I did.”

“Then—”

I shushed whatever Bryan was going to say with another kiss. Then, I urged him to lie on his back.

Beginning at his forehead, I touched every feature of his body: his eyes, nose, mouth, ears (with special attention to the lobes), chin, throat, nipples (more special attention), abs, navel, skipped the pubic mound and related items, inner thighs, knees, ankles, toes, back to shoulders, elbows, hands and fingers.

Bryan’s penis was stony-erect and throbbing with each heartbeat. His breathing was ragged. He whimpered as I touched his pubic mound two inches below his navel. “Please …”

I bent down, and took him into my mouth deeply, pressing my lips against his skin. His penis pulsed, and I felt heat in my throat. I raised my head until my lips were tight against his corona. More heat, accompanied by the sweet taste of his boyish essence. I stroked the head with my tongue and was rewarded by more sweetness, a sharp cry of pleasure, and a quiver that shook his entire body.

Bryan did not detumesce. I took that as a sign that he was still eager to explore, but did not say anything. He wanted exploration; not a guided tour. All I could expect was that my example had given him some ideas. After raising my head, I kissed him. Just a brush on the lips, no tongue. I wasn’t sure he was ready to share the residue of what he’d left in my mouth.

I pulled away, but Bryan grabbed my head, pressed our faces together, and pushed his tongue against my lips. Whatever, I thought, and opened myself to him.

Bryan’s enthusiasm and energy, as well as his studies, made up for his inexperience. Thirty minutes later, I felt an orgasm that seemed to rise in my toes and my head and collide in my groin before exploding into Bryan.

This time, I initiated the kiss, and tasted myself in the mouth of my son.

Our follow-on nap was interrupted by Richard’s knock, and his voice. “Leaving in thirty minutes. You two will probably want to clean up.” I felt, more than heard, his chuckle.

Dave and Busters

Two boys were waiting for us when we reached Richard’s den: Zhang and his friend, Artie. They were watching television – a local news channel. Another flash mob had formed. The National Guard had been authorized to use live ammunition to supplement rubber bullets and water cannon. DHS ordered the drones operated by television stations to land so that drones operated by DHS could evaluate the situation. The television stations cited the First Amendment. DHS shot down their drones. The First Amendment meant nothing to the DHS.

“Does this mean we can’t go to supper?” Artie asked.

Richard came in just in time to hear Artie’s question. Richard looked at Zhang, who nodded.

“No,” Richard said. “Just means we have to get there another way.” He saw Bryan and me standing in the corner, and added, “Bryan, this is Zhang and his friend, Artie.”

The boys high-fived and bumped fists. It looked to me as if Zhang and Bryan exchanged looks that were deeper than a couple of boys meeting for the first time. I shrugged it off; I was becoming accustomed to things happening that were beyond my control – or my understanding.

“Artie? Zhang has told me there is room in your heart for magic,” Richard said. “Was he right?”

“Sir, when Gary rescued me, he took me from the place my father had left me to die to a warm, clean, safe place that was thousands of miles away from Oregon. I know Gary is magic.” Artie giggled.

“I know Zhang is magic, too.” The boy paused, and seemed to look inward.

“There is a place in my heart for Zhang; Zhang is magic. Yes, Richard who is Zhang’s lover and father, there is room in my heart for magic.”

Bryan

Richard turned toward me, and looked hard at me.

“Bryan, is there room in your heart for magic?”

“After what you have done? After what I have seen? Why do you ask?” I said.

Richard looked closely at me. I felt that he and I were the only ones in the room. I still saw Paul. I still felt his hand in mine, but I knew that Richard and I were somewhere else, somewhere Paul and the others weren’t. Richard’s answer echoed in my mind.

Bryan Nicholas Sen, you will become one of us, a god. You will receive powers: Attributes, Authorities, and Aspects. I do not know where this future will take you, and I dare not say what I think. You will become powerful; you may exceed me in power. That is part of the reason I ask. The other is this: Paul loves you, and I think you love him. It may be that he cannot accompany you on your journey. Still, it will be a journey of love and redemption. That is all I can say. Is there room in your heart for magic?

I answered, yes. Secretly, I was determined to find out what was going on, and how I could make sure Paul and I would never be separated.

Richard understood that neither Artie nor I were going to freak out; he popped us to a Dave and Busters where Aiden was waiting. I’m not sure where it was, but was pretty sure it wasn’t in Chicago.

Artie didn’t seem to mind … he grabbed Zhang and led him to the pool tables.

The story of Refuge contains both previously pupblished and new unpublished material. It would be helpful to have read Nemesis and Nemesis 2 first. Without reading those stories, you may become lost.

The only pay our authors receive is your feedback. Write to David and let him know your thoughts! David dot Mcleod at CastleRoland dot Net.

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