A Gay Polyester High School Romance

by S. W. Ballenger

  “Hey, Pops,” greeted Will as the man finally looked up from pulling off his muddy boots.

  “Hey, boy,” he rumbled.

  Will jerked his feet off the coffee table obviously having been told many times not to rest them there. “How’s Beulah and the baby?” he asked.

  “Doing well. Old Beulah had one beauty of a calf.” He cocked his head to the side and clicked his tongue. “Definitely one you’ll wanna show next year.”

  “Nice!” Will nodded as his father finally spotted me, his eyes widening.

  “Holy—” His deep voice boomed.

  “Weird isn’t it?” Will interrupted looking at me.

  Mr. Bellums’ eyes narrowed for a brief moment, making me shiver before they went bright again. “Shawn?”

  “Yes sir.” I sat up feeling a bit on edge.

  “Jesus Christ. I haven’t seen you since you were a baby.” He shook his head, his face still reflecting his shock at seeing me.

  Putting forth my best manner, I walked over and held out my hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  He looked down a moment and almost hesitated before grabbing my hand in a bone-crushing handshake “Peter Bellums. How’re your parents?”

  “They’re good,” I answered finally starting to relax.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Aunt Mary and Uncle Frank,” he said as he stood back and started pulling off his thick fleece coat.

  “Yeah, they don’t get up here often.” I walked over and sat back down wondering exactly why they didn’t. Sure, the place was rather primitive, but family was family.

  Will jumped in about that time. “Where’s Mom?” He looked to his father.

  “She’s gathering eggs,” he answered. “She’ll be here directly.” He said as he hung his coat on the coat rack behind the door.

  I assumed “directly” meant soon in country vocabulary as I’d heard my granddad use it twice already.

  Will looked at me with a mischievous grin on his face. “Hey. I got an idea. Play along.”

  I observed as he darted from the room. A few minutes later, he returned with his C.A.T. hat in his hand where he then plopped it on my head before hiding behind the couch.

  Mr. Bellums shook his head at his son’s antics, obviously used to his practical jokes.

  A few moments later the door opened and a very attractive lady with short brown hair, wearing brown overalls and work boots entered.

  She looked down and began pulling her muddy boots off. “Hey, Mom!” Will spoke from behind the couch.

  Turning her head toward me, she pointed as she struggled to push one boot off her foot with the other one. “You need to be studying for semester tests, not watching TV,” she said, not doubting for one moment I was her son.

  Will didn’t speak, so I spoke. “Yes, ma’am.” I looked at her, unsure.

  Will began snickering from behind the sofa as a look of puzzlement washed across her face.

  About that time, he jumped up. “Gotcha!”

  Mrs. Bellums grabbed her chest and gasped. “Oh my God!” she shrieked as Will ran around the sofa and plopped down next to me.

  He pointed to me and then himself. “Twins.” He stated gleefully.

  “I…I…” She stuttered, obviously in shock, looking at her husband almost panicked before looking back at me. “You’re Shawn?” She pointed with apprehension.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I gave her a slight grin as Will playfully grabbed his hat from my head and plopped it on his own.

  I tried to straighten my messy hair with my hand.

  Glancing at her husband as if looking for direction on how she should proceed, a smile formed on her face. “I’m Nancy. That Piece of Work there’s mother.” She pointed at Will as if everything was suddenly okay, making me feel a little uncomfortable in the fact that my presence seemed to put them both on edge.

  “She wouldn’t know what to do without me.” He grinned at me mischievously.

  “Uh huh.” She nodded. “If I find another spit cup in your bedroom like I did this morning, I’m going to have you sweeping out the horse barn for a month.”

  “Sorry, Best Mom in The World,” he replied.

  “You know I hate that nasty stuff and all the charming in the world won’t get you out of trouble.” She looked toward the kitchen. “Well, I better get started on supper. Will you be joining us for dinner, Shawn?”

  “Umm…sure,” I replied. “If that’s okay, ma’am?” The thought of eating one of Will’s prized winning pigs passed through my head, making me cringe slightly.

  “You’re family. Of course it’s okay.” She waved her hand as if it were nothing. “We’re glad to have you.” She looked at her husband again.

  I glanced over at Will after they both left the room. “What are we having?”

  “My favorite meal: ham hocks and turnip greens!” Will rubbed his hands together excitedly.

  “Umm…I think I’ll pass.” I made a gagging sound.

  “I’m kidding.” He elbowed me playfully. “She’s fixing lasagna. Wouldn’t want to make a city boy like you eat greens now would we?” He laughed.

  “Hick.” I jabbed back.

  Will threw his head back and cackled.

  • • •

  Having dinner with my cousin on my mom’s side of the family was a whole new experience for me. Sure, I’d been around my cousins on my dad’s side many times, but it wasn’t the most enjoyable experience. Most of them were pretentious snobs, and I just found them annoying. The Bellums were anything but pretentious. They were warm and welcoming and treated me like I was one of their own after their initial apprehension. Mrs. Bellums fixed one hell of a good lasagna. So good, I had three servings.

  The more I talked to my cousin Will, the more I liked him. I found we shared the same political beliefs; a welcome reprieve from my Republican-loving Stuart cousins. Will definitely wasn’t the dumb country hick I judged him to be when he ran into my grandparent’s farmhouse in a frenzy over a cow. The more we talked, the more I realized just how intelligent he actually was. His understanding of the Constitution, the Watergate scandal, and Nixon’s abuse of power actually made me feel a bit dumb. Will shattered another one of my long-held stereotypes that rural Americans were uneducated.

  After dinner, we watched The Brady Bunch and The Six Million Dollar Man. Like me, Will was a big fan of Steve Austin, the Six Million Dollar man himself. I hung out at the Bellums as long as possible to avoid having to go back to my grandparents’ cold, spooky house. At least the Bellums’ house was warm with modern central heating, although I heard Mr. Bellums say something about it giving him problems lately, but even so, it beat sleeping in a meat locker.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A rap on my bedroom door awakened me from a very miserable night. After Mr. Bellums dropped me off around eleven, I headed straight to bed. Will had told me that Granny and Granddad usually went to bed around seven, which I found absolutely nuts, and while he had invited me to stay at his place for the night, I was afraid my grandparents would be upset if they discovered I hadn’t come back after being out most of the day. But, after the miserable night I had in that dark, creepy room I wish I had said yes. Even with six layers of quilts, I still froze. I tried sleeping in just my underwear as usual, but by three a.m. I was so cold I got up and put on the clothes I had worn the previous day.

  Another knock at the door shook me from my precious few hours of sleep. “What?” I yelled angrily.

  “Son, it’s time to feed the chickens and milk the cows,” my granddad said as he opened the door and turned on the light, causing me to squint my eyes in pain.

  “Huh?” I briefly studied him, noting he was dressed in his usual attire of blue and white pin-striped overalls. I glanced toward the window and saw no sign of daylight.

  “What time is it?” I covered my eyes with my hand.

  “Five o’clock,” he replied.

  “Five?” I yelled.

  “Get up, son. We got work to
do. Your mother said you wanted to know what farm living was like.” He tapped his boot on the wooden floor impatiently.

  “What?” I mumbled in my pillow as I realized that my mother was a sadist behind that loving, caring façade.

  I lay a moment thinking on whether to tell Granddad to buzz off, but I knew he would tell my mother and she and Dad would come up with some other “creative” punishment for me.

  “Shit,” I mumbled. “Okay, Granddad.” I sighed, knowing this was a no-win situation.

  I heard footsteps walking away and the door closing.

  I pressed my face into my overstuffed feather pillow and screamed.

  This was going to be a long day.

  • • •

  For the next three hours I fed chickens, gathered eggs, milked cows, slopped pigs, and for the coup de grâce, I shoveled manure from the stables while watching my granny chop the head off a chicken and pluck it for dinner. My stomach lurched a couple of times from the knowledge that I’d never look at Colonel Sanders the same way again.

  It was around eight a.m. when I finished my morning of twenty-degree misery. The temperature in the bathroom, in which I bathed afterward, wasn’t warm. I say “bathed” because the room lacked a shower and contained only an antique claw-foot bathtub, reminding me of a prop from a horror movie.

  Brad planned to call me at ten on the dot, so I didn’t have much time to get dressed after my bath.

  As I stepped into the hall after changing into my jeans and sweater, I heard the phone ringing downstairs. I glanced down at my watch and realized I had soaked in the soothing hot water longer than I intended.

  I cursed and sprinted toward the stairs.

  Just as I got to the top step, I heard Granny pick up the phone.

  “Hello,” she greeted as I sped down the stairs, stumbling once and having to grab the railing to keep myself from tumbling headfirst down the steep steps, breaking my neck, and completing the horror movie scene.

  “Shawn? No. No one here by that name,” she creaked. “You got the wrong number.”

  “Wait! Granny!” I slid around the corner into the kitchen and reached for the receiver that was pressed against her ear. “That’s for me.” I tried to grab it but not before I heard the click, as she hung it back on the wall. I froze, staring dishearteningly at the phone, watching with disappointment at the twisted receiver cord bouncing up and down from a call that I had no way of returning.

  “Good morning, Shane. You ready for some breakfast?” She reached up and adjusted the bun in her tired gray hair.

  “It’s Shawn!” I spat, finally having my fill of this lunacy. “And no, I’m not hungry!” I turned and stomped back upstairs.

  Slamming the door to my bedroom, I ran and flopped down on the bed. Flipping on my back, I stared angrily at the ceiling.

  A few minutes later, I heard a knock at my door. Thinking it was my granddad coming to make me sheer sheep or corral horses, I yelled angrily, “Go away, I’m naked!”

  “Thanks for the warning, but my momma always says you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.” Will’s voice echoed though the door. As much as I fought it, I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Come in!” I called out to him.

  The door opened and in walked Will dressed in all camouflage except for his bright orange hat and vest. I furrowed my eyebrows at his ensemble.

  “What you doing?” he asked, standing a few feet inside the door.

  “Counting the number of boards in the ceiling,” I answered, looking back up at the long four-inch planks that ran from one side of the room to the other in parallel.

  He followed my eyes to the ceiling. “Sounds fun.”

  “Well it beats shoveling horseshit, which I did for an hour this morning by the way.” I folded my arms and huffed.

  “City Boy.” He shook his head, pursing his lips. “Get up, we’re going hunting,” he ordered.

  “Hunting? What kind of hunting?”

  “Deer hunting.” He paused. “You do know how to shoot a gun don’t you?”

  “Of course.” I huffed at him thinking I was that urban. “I’ve been pheasant hunting with my Grandpa Stuart lots of times.” While I didn’t want to brag, I was actually quite good at it, since I had been going on annual trips with him in Upper State New York since I was little.

  “Ooh. Pheasant hunting. Aren’t we fancy?” Will jerked his head back mockingly.

  “Shut up.” I grinned.

  “Well, shooting a deer is much more fun than shooting at fancy birds.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yeah, now get up off your lazy ass and let’s go.” He waved his arm to follow him.

  “What about clothes? I don’t have any hunting gear.”

  “You can borrow some of mine.”

  “Eh. What the hell.” I shrugged, jumping up from the bed. Anything beats more farm labor.

  After changing into a pair of camouflage jeans and shirt, we began trekking from Will’s house to the woods that lay a half-mile across the open field. Toting a twenty-two-caliber rifle against my left shoulder, he and I walked side-by-side into the forest.

  About a mile into the woods, a light wet snow began falling, tapping on the dried leaves of the oaks and maples that filled the winter landscape. The tree limbs creaked and moaned as they struggled against the frigid wind. The crunching sound of the rotting leaves beneath our feet gave the forest an almost dead feeling. I pulled my coat around me tighter.

  “There’s a trail over by those trees.” Will pointed. “I’ve seen a nice buck over there back in the summer.” He headed directly toward a big oak several yards off the trail. “That will give us a good place to wait, should he decide to show himself.”

  I nodded and followed.

  Sitting down and resting his back against the tree, Will reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboros and a lighter. I sat down beside him, stretching my legs out, and carefully laying my rifle across my lap.

  “You smoke?” I asked with surprise in my voice.

  He chuckled. “When I can get away with it. I snuck this pack from the carton behind the old man’s truck seat. He’ll never miss them.” He held the pack out to me. “Want one?”

  I stared at the pack in Will’s hand. Although I did take some weed, I had never smoked a cigarette. My parents didn’t smoke, but lots of kids at school did; which was perfectly acceptable as long as you had a signed permission slip from your parents on file in the principal’s office. I knew for a fact that my parents would never sign one for me. They both hated cigarettes.

  Without a second thought, I reached my hand out. “Sure.”

  Sticking it in my mouth, I lit it, sucked in, and immediately began coughing.

  Will laughed. “Take is easy, cuz. Don’t take so much in at once.”

  “Whoa.” I coughed again, pounding my chest with my fist. “It’s stronger than weed.” My eyes watered.

  “You smoke weed?” he asked, his mouth agape.

  “Yeah.” I looked at him, confused, not believing that he’d never smoked a doob.

  A big grin appeared on his face and he elbowed me. “Kidding, I smoke at least four or five times a week.” He twisted his head to the left, then to the right as if making sure the coast was clear. “I cultivate a little crop down by our pond. It’s usually enough to get me through the winter.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Seriously?”

  “Yep.” He relaxed against the tree, the tobacco stick hanging from the corner of his mouth. “Just a few plants. Personal use only, you know?” He winked.

  I laughed. “Cool. I have to buy mine from the school janitor and he charges a fortune for it.”

  “Eh, you’re rich.” He shrugged. “You can afford it.”

  “What do you mean?” I glowered at him, surprised he knew about my parents’ financial situation.

  “I heard my parents talking last night after you left. They said your parents are loaded.” He leaned his head back and exhaled.<
br />
  “I guess.” I took another drag without coughing.

  “So, you must have done something majorly bad to get sent to this country paradise for a weekend of ‘Fun on the Farm’.”

  “What makes you think that?” I asked as I brushed the accumulating snow off my leg.

  “I can’t see a rich city boy like you wanting to stay with his poor grandparents on a farm in the middle of nowhere.” He chuckled.

  “Yeah.” I squinted one eye. “I kinda messed up.”

  About that time, Will put his hand up to signal me to stop talking. His face got serious, and he sat up straight as he stared deep into the forest at the sound of rustling leaves.

  “Just a squirrel.” He relaxed. “So, what did you do?” He looked back at me.

  I sighed. “So, we were at our condo in the Bahamas over Thanksgiving—”

  “Wait. Your parents have a condo in the Bahamas?” He looked at me skeptically.

  “Yeah. It’s our favorite vacation home,” I answered.

  He thought for a second. “Wait, so how many vacation homes does your family have?” His voice lifted.

  “Three. A cottage in New Hampshire, a home on the Finger Lakes in Upper New York, and the condo in Nassau.” I counted off on my fingers.

  “Damn, cuz. Mom and Pops were right. You guys are loaded.” He shook his head.

  I looked at him a bit irritated. “Um, shall I finish?” While I was glad my parents had money, I didn’t like to flaunt it or make a big deal out of it. It’s people like that social-climbing bitch Tabitha that made me reluctant to share that information with anyone. I don't want people liking me just because my parents were rich, and while I felt confident Will wasn’t that type of person, I still didn’t like him going on about it.

  “Yeah. Sorry,” he apologized obviously picking up on the tone of my voice. “Go ahead.”