The Boy Who Couldn't Fly Straight: A Gay Teen Coming of Age Paranormal Adventure about Witches, Murder, and Gay Teen Love (Book 1, The Broom Closet Stories)

by Jeff Jacobson

  As he watched her now, Charlie wondered where she had learned everything. It seemed silly, but he had never really thought about it before. Instead, he took it all for granted. Who had taught her how to fix engines, to fish for trout in the stream, to lay bathroom tiles? She was only thirty-three years old. His own friends’ parents, some of whom were nearly twice her age, couldn’t do half the stuff that she could. She had taught him a lot of what she could do, but where did she learn it? Even though she was on the board at the library, he doubted all the knowledge came from books.

  Snippets of conversations ran through his mind:

  “Elizabeth, how did your berries survive this summer? Seems like bugs got to everyone else’s.”

  “Lizzy, that crust of yours. Really. It’s the best ever.”

  “That lotion you made? You’d think Laurel had never even been sunburned!”

  Why hadn’t he ever wondered about it all before? He supposed he was just used to it. She was constantly in motion, fixing things, fussing over others. He had heard her say more than once to neighbors that she had grown up on a farm in Iowa. Yet when he had asked her over the years about her family, she would say that her parents were killed in a car accident when she was young, that she had been raised by distant relatives, and that she didn’t want to talk about it. As for Charlie’s father, her pat response was, “The only nice thing about that man was that he brought me you. End of story.”

  His mother was a person of few words. When she said “end of story,” she meant it. Regardless of how much he persisted, he could never get any more information from her about his father. He had long ago given up trying. Instead, he had invented a kind-hearted fisherman with a beard who worked up in Alaska. As he had grown older he had stopped thinking so much about his fictitious father, but every so often he had let his mind wander, trying to guess what his “fisherman dad” might be doing now.

  Charlie supposed he had inherited the same tight-lipped habits from his mother, though for her it seemed to come from a natural distrust of anyone other than herself and her son, while for Charlie it was because talking to people, especially adults, could bring on such intense attacks of shyness that he did his best to avoid it all together. Mother and son spent most of their time together without much conversation, which suited them both just fine.

  “Son, what are you doing? Don’t you have work to do?”

  Charlie was startled to see his mother looking at him, dishtowel in hand.

  “Oh, um, just thinking. I’m almost done. Besides, it’s still birthday week.” He pushed a curl out of his eyes only to have it fall back again. It was too hot to keep trying.

  Charlie had turned fifteen the previous Thursday, nearly a week into his sophomore year at Clarkston High School, and already his classes were getting challenging. He liked the challenge, liked seeing how quickly and accurately he could learn new things, then apply them to his homework. But the amount of work was proving much greater than it had his freshman year.

  His mother had surprised him with two birthday gifts. One was a small stone pendant on a leather necklace. He had never worn anything like it before.

  “I thought it would look nice on you. It’s supposed to bring good luck,” she had shrugged, and Charlie could have sworn she looked a little embarrassed when she said it. “Just keep it on, okay? Who knows? It might work.”

  His mother was the least superstitious person he knew. She never even went to church like most of the other mothers in town. But he had shrugged and put it on anyway. He liked how it felt around his neck.

  The other gift was even more of a surprise.

  “For one week, you get to watch as much TV as you want, after you’ve finished your homework.”

  He would have been less surprised if she said she had bought him an elephant.

  He had pestered her off and on for years about wanting to watch something, anything, after school. True, he liked quiet, but all the other kids at school constantly talked about their favorite TV shows. He didn’t want to feel so left out all the time.

  True to form, she was always very strict about how much he could watch. That usually only meant on weekends, and that was only after the chores were done. Since there were always a lot of chores to do, it didn’t leave much time.

  “Besides, we have plenty to do around here to keep us entertained, Charlie.”

  When he had asked if they could get a DVR so he could at least record shows, she had scoffed at him.

  “Spend that kind of money on a device just to make our brains stupid? I don’t think so.”

  He had almost asked her why she had relented, why she had given him this kind of birthday gift. But he had kept his mouth closed. He wasn’t used to leniency from her and was worried that if he questioned it she would take it away.

  He pondered how to find the value for the hypotenuse of a triangle, figured it out, finished the rest of his geometry, and then closed his books and flipped on the old TV with the remote.

  “… not sure as to exactly when it happened,” an anchorwoman wearing lots of makeup was saying, “but Sheriff Roger Willard will issue a statement later today. Right now it is estimated that it took place some time late last night.

  “Once again, if you are just tuning in, local Forkville High School senior Ted Jones was found badly beaten earlier this morning near the weigh station on State Route 23. The sheriff’s department is investigating evidence as to whether or not this could have been a hate crime. Jones had just come out as gay to his football coach and teammates late last week.”

  A yearbook photo of a young black man in a letterman’s jacket appeared on the screen. Forkville was just two towns over from Clarkston, where Charlie and his mother lived.

  “We go to Forkville High School with Sky Span correspondent Sharon Thomas. Sharon?”

  “Thanks, Gina. Sheriff Willard is at Forkville High right now meeting with the principal and key faculty members, including varsity football coach Hank Bourgette. At this point, no statement from the school has been issued. We will let you know as soon as we have the statement.”

  “Sharon, can you tell us what the sheriff’s department has said so far?”

  “Only that an early morning jogger found Jones lying near a dumpster on Route 23. The young man was unconscious, but breathing. After the jogger called 9-1-1, paramedics rushed Jones to Clarkston County Hospital where he is currently in critical condition.

  “Witnesses found various anti-gay messages spray-painted on a dumpster near where the jogger found Jones. The sheriff’s office has not confirmed if the messages were left by those who attacked the young man or even how long they had been there.”

  “Thank you, Sharon. And will the …”

  The television screen went black. Charlie blinked, then saw his mother standing next to him, her arm stretched toward the TV, remote in hand.

  “Of all the things to have happened. And in Forkville, nonetheless,” she said, harrumphing as she set the remote down on the table and went back into the kitchen saying, “Finish your homework” over her shoulder.

  Charlie forgot to remind his mother that it was birthday week and that he could still watch TV.

  Instead he sat very still, shocked in a way he didn’t understand.

  What had his mother meant when she had said, “Of all the things to have happened.” Was she referring to the high school football player who came out as gay? Or to the people who might have beaten him up for it?

  There was something else besides the shock, something deeper. Something that Charlie did his best to push aside even though it seemed to be getting more and more difficult to do these days. The news story, and his mother’s reaction, had caught him off guard, and so for a few moments renegade thoughts and mental pictures coursed through his head, unchecked.

  Was Ted Jones really gay?

  Could a football player really be gay?

  Were you gay if you sometimes only thought about boys but never did anything about it?

 
Were you gay if you’d never done anything with anybody, boy or girl, so how could you know?

  Images:

  Of Brian McGregor and Roddy Espinoza, upperclassman athletes at school. All the girls had crushes on them. Brian’s thick shoulders and strong face, Roddy’s dimpled smile and dark skin. Charlie felt his cheeks flushed with heat as mental snapshots of the two boys flooded his mind.

  Of boys on his soccer team when he was little, of how Charlie wanted to be near some of them, wanted to sit next to them, to touch their messy hair, to hear their voices.

  Of scenes in movies or TV shows where a boy or a man was teased for being “too girlie,” “too femmy,” or simply “a faggot.”

  Of Ted Jones’s high school yearbook photo, his hopeful smile, wearing a letterman’s jacket, not looking like someone who could or should be beaten up and left on the side of the road.

  Charlie shook his head and looked around desperately for something to distract him.

  Homework! He had some Spanish sentences to compose as well as a biology lab write-up to do. It was still hot downstairs, so upstairs would be sweltering. He might as well stay put and finish it all right where he was. His bedroom would be an oven right now.

  Aware that the last wisps of troubling thoughts were leaving his head, he was surprised to hear a strange sound coming from the kitchen. He looked up to find his mother staring out the window over the sink with the big green salad bowl in her hands, the blank look on her face much like the look he must have had only moments before.

  She seemed to be mumbling something.

  “Mom, you okay?”

  “What?” she asked, startled, looking over at him as if she had forgotten he was there. “Oh, I’m fine. Get back to work, I just … no!”

  His mother’s final word was a scream. Her hands flew to her face, dropping the heavy glass bowl. Her uncharacteristic yell made Charlie jump in his chair, and he watched as the bowl hit the kitchen counter, then tumbled to the floor and shattered, sending small pieces of glass everywhere. One of them must have hit her sandaled foot, for a tiny drop of blood appeared above her ankle and formed a red track as it slid toward her heel.

  “Mom? What … what happened? What are you doing?” He slid his chair back and came over to help her clean up the mess.

  “Oh, Charlie, jeez, it’s nothing, really, just clumsy I guess. Watch your feet, honey. There’s glass everywhere. I … no-no-no-no-no-no-no!” she yelled again from her squatting position, head jerking in the direction of the living room.

  Charlie turned just in time to see the living room window explode in a shower of glass. Tiny shards caught the light of the setting sun as if someone had thrown a bag of diamonds into the air.

  The muzzle and forepaws of a huge dog flew through the broken window toward them. Charlie watched as the rest of its body came through the frame and landed on the floor amidst the broken glass.

  “No, you can’t, you can’t!” his mother screamed.

  The dog sat on its haunches staring at the two of them.

  CHAPTER 2

  A Boy and His Dog

  “GET OUT OF HERE! You can’t be here!” his mother continued screaming.

  Frozen in place, Charlie stared at the dog. He simply couldn’t make sense of anything, of the way his mother seemed to know that something was about to happen, how the window exploded, that a huge German shepherd sat on their living room floor surrounded by broken glass and was now staring at them.

  And then a most unexpected impossible thing happened.

  In the silence following his mother’s screams, the dog opened its maw and spoke.

  “Give me the boy, Elizabeth,” it said in a deep gargled voice. “Give me the boy, and no one will get hurt.”

  Charlie felt what must be his sanity liquefy in his brain and drain down the back of his neck. He could feel his grasp on anything resembling reality loosen. He simply could not fathom that a dog was talking to his mother.

  He felt himself yanked off his feet and dragged backwards into the kitchen.

  “No!” his mother yelled, hands gripping his shoulders. “You cannot be here. Get out!”

  Charlie’s bare feet slid over the floor, scraping across the green shards of the broken salad bowl. There was so much glass.

  His mother shoved him behind her. The kitchen counter slammed into his back knocking him out of his stupor. He wrapped his arms around her thin frame and peered out from behind her T-shirt, the smell of fabric softener and her sweat strong in his nose.

  The dog rose from its sitting position and walked a few steps toward them.

  “Elizabeth,” it said, its ragged dog voice filled with chiding. “Come now, you are not in charge here anymore. You never were. Now just give me the boy before I have to do something drastic.”

  Charlie began to shake. He could smell the musk from the dog as it approached. It stepped onto the linoleum of the kitchen floor. The animal was now just five feet away. It stopped and looked at his mother, its gray eyes flat, its tongue lolling out the side of its mouth, its teeth yellow and sharp.

  How could this be happening?

  “Do not take another step!” his mother said, the threat in her voice unmistakable.

  “Or what? You’ll bake something? You’ll come at me with a rolling pin? Please, Elizabeth, we both know you’re nothing more than a kitchen witch these days. You …”

  His mother jerked into action. Extending her arms to either side of her body, she brought them together and slapped her hands against each other creating a loud clap. A flash of white light rippled through the air like a heat wave shooting from her hands toward the dog, while Charlie clung to her hips and peered from her side.

  As soon as the rippled light hit the animal, it skidded backwards across the floor to the far wall of the dining room, its paws scrambling for traction, first on the linoleum, and then on the carpet. It struck the wall with a thud and a yelp.

  The light vanished, and Charlie’s mother slumped back against him, her bird-thin spine rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath, her shoulders blocking Charlie’s view.

  When Charlie peeked around his mother at the wall, the dog was gone. In its place was a tall blond man, dressed in a loose white shirt and dark pants, a small cut on his chin bleeding red.

  Where had the dog run to? Where did the man come from? How did …

  “Goddamn it, woman, I warned you. You didn’t have to do it this way. But if you insist,” the man said in a soft, and softly dangerous, voice.

  He walked toward them again, glass crunching under his tall black boots.

  His mother reached behind Charlie and opened one of the kitchen drawers, not taking her eyes off of the man’s face.

  “Oh what, Elizabeth? Looking for a seed packet? Or maybe a Chinese takeout menu? What could you possibly have in there that could help?” He sounded like a character in a movie, someone arrogant and snide, someone who looked down on everyone around him.

  Charlie didn’t know what to do. His mother’s body was pressed tightly against him trapping him against the counter. The drawer’s corner had banged against his right hip when she yanked it open. He could hear the contents sliding around as her hand fumbled about. She never took her eyes off the man.

  Her hand came forward, and Charlie saw that she held a small brown stone pendant attached to a black leather strap. It looked like a duplicate of the pendant she gave him for his birthday.

  His mother thrust the pendant in front of her and began to mumble something. Charlie couldn’t make out the words. A soft orange glow appeared. Instead of flashing forward like the wave from his mother’s hands had done, it grew warmly around them the way a candle flame slowly brightens the air around it. It drifted back over his mother’s arm, over her head. Charlie felt a soft warmth wash over him as the light spread down over his body extending all the way to the floor. It was as if he had walked under a heat lamp.

  “Wha- … what is happening?” he whispered into his mother’s shirt
. Where did these lights come from? How could a dog talk? What was the man doing?

  “I’d laugh if you weren’t pissing me off so much, Elizabeth. Now it’s time to take a lesson from my class. Ready for some schooling?” he said, his lips curling back in a feral smile. His face was lean and proud, sullied with cruelty.

  The man pulled his right arm back. Charlie watched as it shot forward in a strong, solid punch. The fist stopped just short of his mother’s face, blocked by the barrier of the orange light.

  But his mother’s head jerked backwards as if she had been struck. The orange light faded for moment before resuming its glow.

  The man gritted his teeth and snarled at them, a sound from deep in his throat that shook Charlie with its nearness and inhuman quality.

  He punched at Charlie’s mother again, this time a jab at her chest. She grunted, and the light flickered. Her body recoiled against Charlie.

  “I can do this all night, my dear,” the man said, taking a deep breath. “I’ve got you cornered in your ugly little kitchen. There’s nowhere for you to go now, is there? You’re trapped. Is that what you want? For me to do this all night?”

  His mother didn’t answer. She lifted her face from her chest and stared at the man. The right side of her profile showed a sharp cheekbone, lips parted and quivering, a flared nostril, a hazel eye burning with defiance.

  The man laughed again, then swiveled his hips. His fist shot upwards in a powerful uppercut, his punch stopped by the orange glow just short of her chin. But her head flew backwards again, smacking hard on the top of Charlie’s scalp, a deep grunt escaping from her mouth.

  “Give …” the man said as his fist made contact with the light.

  “Me …” he said again, standing above her, this time bringing his left arm forward into an extended jab near his mother’s shoulder.

  “The …” he dropped his right arm with a boxer’s speed, punching at the protective light, right in the center of his mother’s gut. She made a breathy ooo sound and bent over. Charlie sucked in his stomach as his entire upper body was now exposed to the man and his fists.