That Crazy Reality Show

by Natasha Kent

  “Dude. Don’t beat yourself up too bad. We all have our ‘shit-suck’ moments,” I grinned at him. We continued on in silence until we got to the park where we headed over towards one of the park benches overlooking the lake, or pond, and sat down. I’ve always enjoyed Piedmont Park. Unfortunately there’s an area where lots of guys are cruising for sex. I think it’s a shame because lots of families like to come to the park, and they have to put up with that bullshit going on.

  After sitting in silence for a while I looked over at Matt. He had this far away look on his face; looking down the hill toward the pond he had a stick that he was peeling and throwing onto the ground. We were sitting at a good “I’m not gay” distance from each other and I could see his features really well. Good square jaw and the goatee begged to be chewed on.

  “Your hot,” I said. “Wanna neck?”

  He burst out laughing at this, which was my intent. “Martin, you say the damndest things.”

  “Well, I had to bring you out of the depression basket. Shit man, where are you?” I asked, tapping his head with my finger.

  “God I wish I could take it all back,” he said, shaking his head a bit.

  “I’m sorry I brought it up. I really am.”

  “No, not just that. I wish I could rewrite history.”

  “Why.”

  “Puhhh” he exhaled, “because it can suck.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “I was not a nice kid.” He looked so sad. “I hated everything. Everyone. You know I never told anyone this-“

  “Are you sure you want to?” I interrupted. “I mean, we just really met yesterday.”

  Matt took that in for a moment and said, “Yeah, but there’s something about you.”

  “You got gaydar too?” I smiled.

  “Idiot,” he smiled back. He didn’t get the gaydar comment. “You say the damndest things. I’m serious, though. You seem like a really nice guy.”

  I sat back, breathed out heavy and said “I am!” sarcastically.

  “Dammit.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m working on taking compliments better.” He looked over at me. “Go on,” I told him.

  “Well, you’ve been nothing but friendly to me since we ran into each other.” That’s ‘cause, Mattie, I want to have a sword fight with our peckers. He went on. “Always cracking jokes, you’re easy to talk to…I don’t know. It’s like….how do I say it. There’s something right with your soul. Does that sound right? It’s like, something I can sense. I must sound like a dope. I know we just met and all, but I…there’s a connection I can’t quite put my finger on.”

  “Actually, that’s one of the nicest thing anyone’s said to me.” I still wanted to neck with him. Plus he had something I’d like to put my finger on. I should break here and say that I’m not always thinking like a pig, but looking back and writing this out, my piggy tendencies emerge.

  “So Matt, what did you want to tell me.”

  “Oh God,” he said. He looked down at the water, still peeling the stick. “I haven’t shared this with anyone.” He looked over at me but I didn’t say anything. “When I was a kid my step-dad was mean to me. Not just mean, but fuckin’ cruel.” He looked up and shook his head slowly. “He did some evil things. Not just to me, but to my brother as well. My sister lucked out because she had already moved out once Mom got remarried.”

  I just sat and listened. Yes, I actually know when to keep my trap shut.

  “At first it started with the switches. He’d get so mad at us for no reason, and then he’d start hitting us with a switch. Hurt us like a fucker. Mom actually made him go see someone about that, but then he got smart. He’d hurt us in ways that you couldn’t see.” Matt looked down at the stick he was still peeling. “I think that she was miserable and wanted to have a man in the house; she must have known what was going on. For months he didn’t lay a hand on us.”

  “How old were y’all?”

  “Probably eleven or twelve, my brother John’s two years younger. Then he started paying us for chores, but they were chores that we didn’t ask for. I guess he figured if he paid us we wouldn’t mind.”

  “Wouldn’t mind what?” I asked, my suspicions growing.

  He let out an exasperated, cynical laugh and said, “Sex.”

  I took a deep breath and looked around.

  “What? Am I freaking you out?” Matt asked with a concerned look on his face.

  “No. I’m making sure that the camera guys are still gone,” I simply stated.

  He sat up. “See. Just that kind of thing. You’re concerned about this winding up on television. I don’t think that most people would give a crap about that.”

  “Well, baby, I ain’t most people,” I replied, playfully backhanding his shoulder. He smiled at that. “Don’t say a word,” I warned sarcastically.

  “Yep, Frank paid us for sex.” He looked off towards the old granite boathouse, but you could tell he wasn’t seeing it. After what seemed like an eternity he went on. “At first he’d do something like take our hands and rub them on his ass or his crotch. Then he’d fling a dollar or a five at us and tell us that we’d earned our keep.” Turning to me he gritted his teeth a bit, shook his head and said, “I can’t believe I’m telling anyone this.” He sat back against the bench and put his hands on top of his head, still looking at the boathouse.

  “It means a lot that you trust me enough to tell me.”

  Matt smiled at that. “It took me a long time, so fuckin’ long to trust anyone again.” Looking over at me he said, “I can trust you, can’t I?”

  I leaned up and said, “Do you trust your instincts?”

  He sat for a minute. “Now I do.” I could tell this was really hard for him. “Weeks went by and he’d get even worse; what could we do. But hey! The money was good!” he said bitterly. “Oh God, what an evil fucker he was. Is.”

  “Did you tell your mom?”

  “Please. I think somewhere deep down she knew her kids were being peddled for sex. No wonder she drank so much. It got to the point where even taking a shower wasn’t safe. Frank would pick the lock on the bathroom door. Then he’d rip that shower curtain back and push me to my knees.” At this point the tears starting rolling down his cheeks. I closed my eyes and wished a silent prayer of death upon Frank. “When he left the bathroom there’d be a twenty on the counter. Fuck!”

  I sat there and was horrified that someone could violate a kid like that. And that the kid’s parent could sit back as it happened. I didn’t want to show a ton of emotion, or horror, for fear that he wouldn’t be able to continue. He needed this, and even if we were only going to be together for eight weeks, I wanted to be there for him. Hey, deep down past my cynnical assholeness (there’s a new one for ya), I’m really a good guy.

  “How long did it last?” I asked him.

  “Oh God, long enough.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

  “I know. It’s just that I missed out on so much. I hated everyone, everything. I guess I took out my anger on whoever I saw was weak, like myself.”

  “Matt, you weren’t weak. You were a boy for Christ’s sake.” He started sobbing a bit at that, with his eyes resting against his fists. “Man, there are some things that we absolutely cannot control, and sometimes horrible things happen to really great people. But you were a boy!”

  “I should’ve stood up to him!”

  “Would you put up with that shit if he started it today?” I asked.

  Turning to look towards me he said, “Oh, shit no.”

  “And why’s that.”

  “What the fuck kind of question is that!”

  “A damned good one. Why wouldn’t you put up with his shit today.”

  “Because I’m a fuckin’ grownup, that’s why.” I think he was getting kinda irritated with me.

  “Exactly,” I said. “Because you’re a grownup. You’re bigger now. Stronger. You’re a grown man, not a boy anymore. You weren’t weak. He’s a s
ick, twisted fuck.”

  Matt just shrugged his shoulders.

  “Alright ‘strong boy-man at twelve’, how many firemen did he rape?” I asked.

  “Huh?” he said, puzzled.

  “You heard me right. How many firmen did he rape? How many cops did he force himself upon?” Sometimes I have to get real forceful with people to get my point across and I thought this was the slap in the face he could use.

  “None. That’s a stupid question, dude” he said, wiping his eyes.

  “No it’s not. The reason he didn’t attack any of them was because they were grown men who would have ripped his head off and shat down his neck had he tried what he did to you on them.” This made him pause for a minute.

  “True.”

  “Damn right it’s true! You became the target to a sick bastard. Don’t give me this ‘I was weak’ crap. You were a boy.” I leaned toward him and put my hand on his shoulder. “God damn, man, you were just a boy.” I said this part a bit quieter and oh man, he really broke down at that. I was glad that we were somewhat shielded from the walking path because I didn’t want him to feel embarassed thinking someone was watching him cry. His crying broke my heart and soon I had tears rolling down my cheeks and a big ole’ lump in my throat. I knew I needed to be strong for him. He needed a friend.

  After he finally calmed down a bit I asked him about John. “What happened to him.”

  “Shit, poor kid really went into himself. Where I picked on people, he started drinking.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Yeah, he saw mom hide her life in a bottle; figured he could too. Then he started doing drugs.” I shook my head. “Eventually he started whoring around.”

  “Promiscuous, huh?” I said.

  “No, actually whoring around. He became an escort, or something worse. Last I heard he was walkin’ the streets, hookin’ up with whatever John came along. Hah,” he laughed bitterly, “John picks up Johns.” He shook his head again. Suddenly it dawned on me about his questions regarding the guys who cruise the park.

  “Matt, there’s absolutely nothing I can say or do, but-“

  “Yes there is, and you’ve already done it.”

  “What?” I wondered.

  He turned to look at me. “You were here when I needed someone. I’ll never forget that.” More tears rolled down his cheeks.

  This time I got tears in my eyes – again. I smiled at him and said “Anytime.”

  Matt popped my knee a couple of times, in a manly “I’m not gay” sort of way and said, “C’mon, let’s finish our walk.”

  We headed out around the pond (lake, whatever) towards the main parking lot. Unfortunately this was where the cruisers were. All of a sudden this really cute guy came running past us, wearing only jogging shorts. It was getting late in the morning and with all of the rain yesterday I could tell it was gonna be a hot and humid day. I’ll bet the jogger thought that it was so hot and humid that it felt like there was a gigantic, sweaty walrus sitting on top of his head. And I’m sure all the gay men, small children and elderly grandmothers were watching him as he ran by. I remember thinking, “Hello, Nick.” Oh well.

  As Matt and I walked towards Park Lane, which was where one of the park exits was, I spied a family standing at the top of the hill, next to the bridge, overlooking the abandoned train tracks below. As we strolled over the bridge I could tell Matt was looking at the cruisers. I wondered if he expected to see his brother. I wanted to distract him so we walked over to the railing so I could show him a restaurant that had opened up in the old golf clubhouse. When we got to the railing we looked down and saw what the family was waiting for: their mom was at the bottom of the hill, beneath the bridge, with her purple panties down around her ankles, taking a piss. I started hollerin’-laughin’ like I never had before. Poor thing must have been embarassed as hell. I couldn’t stop laughing though. Matt started pushing me down the street; he was laughing too but was in more control of himself than I was.

  Once the laughter subsided he asked me a strange question.

  “Martin,” I really liked hearing that, “what do you think of gay guys?”

  Uh-oh. I gave him my honest answer. “I don’t.”

  He looked kinda surprised and said “Huh?”

  “I don’t,” I repeated. “I mean, I don’t just sit around thinking about gay guys, or lesbos, or trannies, or blacks, or Mexicans, whatever.”

  “I mean, well, do you know any gay guys?”

  I couldn’t tell if he was on a fishing expedition or not. “A few” I lied. Most of the guys I knew were gay.

  “Does it bother you?”

  “A Dirty Sanchez would bother me, or an Angry Pirate.”

  “What the frig are those?” he asked.

  “Well, after you have a little butt-love you pull out, stick your finger in there and then wipe it on their lip like a Ricky Ricardo mustache. Hence the name, dirty Sanchez.”

  Matt stopped and laughed so hard I thought he was gonna have a stroke. This time tears of laughter replaced the tears of sadness from earler. I just stood there watching him convulse with laughter. I tried my damndest not to laugh. When his laughter died down a bit he asked, “Well what’s an Angry Pirate?”

  “Oh this one’s really cute. It’s where you blow your load in your partner’s eye and then kick ‘em in the shin. With their eye closed they go “arrrrrr” from the pain in their shin.”

  “Oh God!” he hollered. “Oh shit!” This time I had to join him. We both laughed like complete friggin’ morons.

  We continued walking and turned south onto Monroe. “So it doesn’t bother you that some of your friends are gay,” Matt said.

  “Um. No. Why should it.” Oh boy. Here we go.

  “I don’t know. Just more conversation, I guess.” We walked on a bit more and the street traffic had gotten a little bit heavier.

  “Can I ask you something personal?” he said.

  “Shoot,” I replied.

  He was getting uncomfortable. I knew what was coming.

  “Well, I really like you, and I honestly do consider you a friend, even after such a short time….”

  “And?” I said.

  “I’m just curious. In high school there were lots of rumors.” Oh goody gumdrops. Here it comes.

  “There always are.” I was starting to get a little shifty, nervous. “About me, I take it.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “I’m probably jumping ahead of the question a bit, but do you remember what I looked like then?”

  Matt said “Yes, I do.”

  “Would you have dated me?”

  He chuckled a bit. “Probably not.”

  “Ok. Does that answer your question?” There that settles that! Or so I thought.

  “No.”

  “Well, shee-it!”

  “Are you gay?” There it was. The question of the century. We walked on for a second before I answered him.

  “Out of curiosity, whatever the answer is, would it change how you treat me?”

  “No.”

  “Would it change your trust for me?”

  “Nope.”

  “Would it change the flavor of my weeks at the beach?” I asked, smiling.

  “Your ‘sex’, Martin.” He returned the smile. Oh man! I’m dyin’ here. I opened my mouth to answer him when all of a sudden we heard a car horn beeping. We turned around and saw Mr. Happy Camerman hurrying over to us with a new camera. I closed my mouth and turned back to Matt.

  “Looks like we’re back on the camera, Matty ol’ boy.” I smiled a big grin.

  “So you’re not going to answer,” he said with his eyebrows raised.

  “Let’s finish our walk.”

  Part 7

  “Are you gay?” There it was. The question of the century. We walked on for a second before I answered him.

  “Out of curiosity, whatever the answer is, would it change how you treat me?”

  “No.”

  “Would it change your trus
t for me?”

  “Nope.”

  “Would it change the flavor of my weeks at the beach?” I asked, smiling.

  “Your ‘sex’, Martin.” He returned the smile. Oh man! I’m dyin’ here. I opened my mouth to answer him when all of a sudden we heard a car horn beeping. We turned around and saw Mr. Happy Cameraman hurrying over to us with a new camera. I closed my mouth and turned back to Matt.