Sander's Courage

by Cade Jay Hathaway

  red as mine, only for another reason. He's just angry, and

  that's how he always looks when he's that way—which is

  far too often, in my books.

  "It's just like I thought from the first time I met your

  faggot ass!" he screamed. "Well, I'm gonna show you what

  you deserve, and what you have to look forward to, you

  little queer!"

  And then he hit me.

  He didn't spare the rod, just like his Sunday

  morning comic book preaches.

  He yanked my pants down and started wailing on

  my ass with his dress belt. That's the white, skinny leather

  belt that makes him look like a disco dancer. It's the church

  belt.

  Whap! Whap! Fucking WHAP! And Whap! again.

  Do you know that I actually stopped feeling it after about

  the fifth WHAP? I guess I must have tired his poor

  Christian arm right out, because when he was done

  Whapping, he just tossed me against the wall.

  And that was the worst thing of the whole day so

  far, because I whiplashed the back of my head against the

  wall and it hurt like a son of a bitch. It took almost a week

  for that pain to go away. Then he just left, but not before

  saying his big exit line: "Now I bet you don't feel so gay,

  do ya, little girl?!"

  I shouted at him, and it was worth it.

  "Fuck you, you piece of shit! FUCK YOU!" And

  then I just dissolved into tears while he exacted his last bit

  of revenge for my honest commentary on his shitiness.

  As he stormed out of my room, he knocked over

  my aquarium on purpose. I tried to save them but the fish

  didn't make it. And the pump that makes their water good

  was broken. I put them in a plastic Burger King cup so I

  could show Grampy and Grammy what he did. "Fuck you,

  piece of shit asshole!" I screamed down the hall. "Fuck

  you!"

  GRAMPY WAS THERE in about half an hour. I'd snuck

  into Adolf and Eva's love lair and called him up and told

  on them. I don't even remember what I said, because when

  I tried to talk the words tasted funny and sounded

  rubbery.

  My mother came into my room about ten minutes

  later and—can you believe this—was all cool and acted

  like nothing had happened. "How ya doing?" she had the

  fucking nerve to ask me.

  "About as good as my dead tropical fish. Get out!"

  "Don't talk to me like that, young man!" she barked.

  "You're going to apologize to Bill for the shit

  you just said to him, do I make myself clear?!"

  "How about fuck off!" I yelled. "The both of you!"

  "Okay. I see where this is going!" she blurted out,

  her lower lip trembling as she wound herself back up

  again. "Your life is over! You go to school! You go to

  church! And that is it!"

  "We'll see about that, you fucking bitch! I'm not

  telling you again! Get the fuck out!" and I threw my

  SpongeBob alarm clock at her. God damn it, I missed! It hit

  the door jam and poor SpongeBob SquarePants broke into

  bits.

  "I'm not through with you!" she warned. And then

  left in a huff, quickly pulling my door shut behind her. I

  lay there trying to calm down and not hurt so much, and

  then I heard the most wonderful sound in the world!

  "WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?!" Grampy demanded. "Where

  the fuck is my grandson?!" And I heard him practically

  jumping up the stairs. He burst into my room and saw the

  destruction. And then he saw me.

  Welts from the slapping were already showing on

  my face, and my butt really, really hurt bad. I told Grampy

  what they'd done, and he asked where the twins were. I

  told him I didn't know, and I started crying again.

  I was saying ow! ow! ow! ow! and he asked what

  the matter was, and I told him I couldn't lay down or sit

  down. And I told him my fish were all dead.

  He rolled me over and pulled my shorts down and

  saw more red and even some bruises that were starting,

  and he told me to lay on my side and that he'd be right

  back. Then he kissed me on my shoulder and I saw he had

  tears in his eyes.

  "Hey!" he shouted, bounding down the stairs, three

  at a time. "Where the fuck did you cowards go?!"

  My mother came around the corner with both of

  her hands in the air. I call it her Settle Down move.

  "Daddy! Calm down, Daddy! This doesn't concern

  you! I don't know what he's told you, but the

  kid's in a lotta trouble!"

  "Bill!" Grampy shouted. "Come on out here and

  let's be men, whaddya say, fucker?!" Wow! Grampy cusses

  with the big words, too! Damn!

  I scampered down the stairs just as quick as I

  could. There was no way I was gonna miss this!

  Bill came into the kitchen from the garage. His hair

  was all messy, and he thought he'd act all tough with

  Grampy. Big mistake, Idiot Bill! You. Are. So. Fucked!

  "What the fuck do you want, old man! Get the hell

  outta my house, asshole!"

  Grampy didn't say a word. He grabbed a cast iron

  skillet off the stove and went after Bill with it, and Bill, the

  piece-of-scared-shitlicker that he is, ran like a girl.

  "You're a dead man, fucker! Come here!" Grampy

  shouted, as they ran round and round from the kitchen to

  the dining room, to the living room, to the kitchen, and

  back again. I counted four times before Bill just ran out of

  the house and closed himself back up in the garage.

  Grampy threw the skillet against the door and it

  put about a two-foot gash in it.

  Grampy turned to me, and told me to go find

  Benny and Maisey, and to get in his car. Mom started up

  her shit, but Grampy shut her down quick enough. "Ruth!

  If you say one fucking word... Just one fucking word... I'll

  have the child services over here so fast that you'll get

  whiplash. I'd advise you to sit the fuck down and shut the

  fuck up, little girl!" And she did!

  I found the twins huddling in their room, and I

  took each one by the hand and told them we were going to

  Grampy and Grammy's house. Then, as we passed by our

  Mother of the Year, she started up her crap again.

  "Make sure you take the car seats with you, and—"

  "Shut up! Just... Shut up!" I hissed.

  Oh, how good that felt. The cool part was, to get

  the car seats I had to open the garage door, where Fuck

  Face was hiding out. He kind of jumped a little when the

  door started to open. But, wise move on his part, he didn't

  say a word to me as I unstrapped the car seats and carried

  them to Grampy's wagon. My crowning achievement of

  the day was when I looked back at him and said, "Later,

  Big Man!" I hoped he felt as small as his dick.

  _________________________________

  J O H N N I E I S E I G H T E E N

  _________________________________

  "BUT YOU CAN'T GO!" Maisey cried.

  "Yeah," Benny added, "what if you sink out there

  on your big boat?"

  "I'm not gonna sink, you guys. I'll be fine," I told

/>   them. "And Grampy and Grammy say they're gonna check

  on you every day, and I'll write to you guys and call you

  all the time."

  My baby sis and bro were all broken up because I

  was leaving home to—get this—run away to sea. I was

  going to work on those big freighters that sail all over the

  world. I was going away from here. That was the main

  goal.

  I figured that even if this was just going to be a gap

  year before college, at least I'd have something to show for

  it. I will have gotten the chance to see the world and be

  paid for it. Besides, I really needed to get away. And not

  just because of the Bible thumping dumbfuck duo that I

  was living with.

  My heart was broken. Stomped on. Flattened.

  My first real boyfriend, Callum, had betrayed me

  and I was far from recovering from that little newsflash. I

  had been with him since the ninth grade, and for the most

  part had been successful at keeping it on the down-low. I

  didn't avoid who I was, or ever denied who I loved, but I

  also didn't rub it in my parents' faces either. It was a

  detente of sorts, and as long as they remained in their

  fantasy land of Christ hanging out with twelve guys and

  hanging on a cross, I kept my business to myself.

  Callum moved to the States from Canada the

  summer before ninth grade, and I was attracted to his

  shyness. He wasn't showy or boisterous, and he was as

  smart as could be. We liked the same things, and I didn't

  have to wait very long to see his pink parts because we

  were on the swim team together.

  It was on an away swim meet in Spokane that we

  first sparked and went through the typical steps it takes for

  a couple of horny boys to finally end up rolling in the hay.

  Fake joke #1—completely deniable. Look for his

  answer. Does he give just a little?

  Fake question #2—does he bite an even bigger

  chunk? Then, does he dare me? Or ask me an even more

  embarrassing "personal" question?

  Finally we graduate to tickling and wrestling. We

  call each other out on our residual boners. "Hey, fag!"

  "What, fag?" "You're such a fag!" "I dare you to suck me,

  fag!" "You're too faggy to let me suck you, fag!" "Oh yeah,

  fag? Well suck this!" And away we go.

  The next night, all of the subterfuge is set aside,

  and we sleep in the same bed, exploring all of the

  forbidden areas in extremely forbidden ways.

  The

  next morning we make sure to mess up the unslept-in bed

  before sharing a shower and some quick bonus sex before

  meeting the coach and the rest of the team down in the

  breakfast room.

  Of course, months turned into years and our

  relationship grew. It was a real relationship. I loved him,

  and he loved me. It was always Johnnie and Callum,

  Callum and Johnnie. Naturally, I knew my folks suspected

  the truth; I didn't care. And Callum's family knew the truth,

  and they didn't care.

  We were good together. We were a team, and I

  thought we would be for always. But then upped jump the

  devil, as Grammy would say. I got a phone call from him

  one night just after graduation.

  "Hey, buster blond, can I ask a wee favor?" he

  purred into the phone.

  "Yeah, anything. You know that," I replied.

  "Well, I'm going up to Canada to visit my

  grandparents, but I have a problem that I'm afraid to tell

  anybody about. And, well..." he said, trailing his

  words. Yeah, he was embarrassed. So I pressed him a

  little and he finally told me what was bothering him.

  "Johnnie, I just feel so stupid. I got four car

  payments behind and they're gonna take my car if I don't

  pay them by tomorrow at five o'clock," he explained with a

  quiver in his voice. "I need to borrow some money, but if

  you can do it, well, I'll pay you back. I swear!"

  Like he had to worry about something like that. Of

  course I'd loan him the money.

  "You wanna meet at my bank in the morning?" I

  asked him. I could hear the sigh of relief when I told him

  I'd gladly lend him the dough.

  We met outside the bank. I'd already drawn the

  money out. He'd asked for twenty-two hundred. I'd pulled

  out twenty-five hundred just in case he needed it for late

  fees or some such. He was my man. He was my

  everything. Who cared about money?

  Imagine my surprise when I learned three days

  later that he'd left me for a guy called Pedro who was on

  the wrestling team. They'd gone to California, and we

  were no more. I also learned that he didn't even owe

  anything on his car. His mom and dad had paid for it in

  full when they bought it for him. Good-bye, Callum. And

  good-bye twenty-five hundred bucks. So you can imagine

  I was ripe for going to sea. It was time for a change of

  scenery, and I was ready to ship out. It would be the best

  decision I had ever made in my life until then. Thank you,

  Callum. You can keep the money. We're square. Your

  cowardly act just brought me that much closer to the life I

  live now, and the man who's by my side.

  T h e A u t h o r

  CADE JAY HATHAWAY is the acclaimed author of the

  Happy Endings Sleepover series of youth gay fiction. Born in

  Tacoma, Washington, and raised in the town of Auburn,

  the 24-year-old writer now makes his permanent home in

  Denmark, where he works as a field transport supervisor

  for the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency.

  He enjoys sailing, is a supporter of theater and the opera,

  and resides with his life partner, Lasse, and three devious

  cats named Klaus, Slinky, and You.

  This is Cade's second novel. He may be reached by email

  at:

  cadejayhathaway@tutanota.com

  Table of Contents

  Part One

  Part Two

  Part Three

  Part Four

  Chapter

  Chapters of Book 3