Guidance (closed for ericrodman101) [M/M]

[tamgreen]

Toby made lingering eye contact with the man across the table, feeling a sort of warmth seep into his chest. He nodded, raising his glass as if in a toast.

"I'm glad too," he agreed. "Uncle Gerry."

His eyes flicked down to stare at the table as he tried not to smile. For some reason he struggled to allow himself that indulgence. Or maybe it was Gerry he would be indulging by smiling.

"Anyway... I didn't mean for you to stroke my ego," he added, fidgeting with his silverware. "I'm not trying to beat myself up or anything. I'm really not that smart, and if you think I'm 'eloquent', you're being way too generous. Any learning disabilities I might have are my mom's fault, not mine, so I don't usually go feeling sorry for myself over my brain."

He quickly sat back and straightened his shoulders as the server arrived with their plates. His eyes widened as the plate was set in front of him, and he inhaled the fragrances wafting forth from the feast.

"Mmmm," he moaned. He picked up his fork excitedly but held back, looking across the table to follow Gerry's lead.

 

[ericrodman101]

Gerry watched Toby eat. Strangely, the kid seemed nonplussed at first. Gerry considered why. The food was not what he expected? The whole restaurant thing freaked him out? Toby seemed excited by the steak's arrival and then not so sure. And when Gerry started eating, Toby began in earnest. Who knew what was going on in the 18 year old's mind?

As he ate, Gerry mulled over Toby's language. All this protesting about not being smart, and yet he used words like 'stroke my ego' and 'eloquent' and 'learning disabilities'. Gerry knew graduating seniors who barely spoke in more than grunts yet were destined for better than average colleges. There were things about Toby which intrigued him greatly. And just added to the other attractions he felt.

Gerry's curse was never being able to enjoy the moment. If he wasn't over-analysing the past, he was jumping into the future. The meal would end and it would be time to go. But where? One minute he was deliciously hard with promise about where the whole Toby thing might go, and the next sick with guilt at even thinking certain thoughts. With Andrea away the house was empty and what little Gerry had learned about Toby's living arrangements, sleeping on the school steps was an improvement, let alone being invited back to Gerry's. Which meant....Gerry shivered again at his troubling vision.

"Tell me again about where you live. An apartment, yes? With your Mom?"

 

[tamgreen]

Toby tried to copy how the man across the table held his fork and knife, how he sliced into his steak and cut off perfect bite-sized chunks. He chewed one bite slowly, savouring the tenderness and flavour of the meat. He could practically feel it strengthening his body as he ate.

He was tunnel-visioned on his plate until Gerry asked him a question. His eyes flicked up. He nodded, not sure he wanted to talk about the apartment or his mom, but once again the words started to come as if of their own volition, as soon as he swallowed his mouthful.

"It's a shitty apartment full of druggies," he mumbled, pausing to sip his water. "I haven't been there much lately. She had a... party. Not much room in there to begin with, and where the fuck am I gonna sleep or do my homework with a bunch of strung-out losers on my couch? I don't know if they're still there or not. I wasn't sure I ever wanted to go back. And she'd be happy enough if I didn't, I think. She's been pushing me to be more independent or whatever. Like I should be working and making my own way. Guess I'm a fucking adult now."

He shrugged and stretched his mouth into a cynical grin without any humor.

 

[ericrodman101]

Gerry was transfixed by Toby's use of the cutlery. So careful and deliberate. The slow chewing, the languid savouring of the meat. All copied from him, Gerry realised. Had this kid never eaten in a restaurant before?

Still, he copied well. Like his sophisticated use of language, Gerry was impressed how quickly Toby learned. What a waste.

Which conclusion of Gerry's was only reinforced by Toby's sad answer to the question about home. Jesus! A drug den. A neglectful parent. Kicked out essentially. A fucking adult! Unlike the people Toby had grown up with and who should have set an example.

Yet even as these thoughts crossed Gerry's mind, his own example came back to trouble him. He wasn't sure how he could reconcile his criticism of the adults in Toby's life with his own behaviour, his rampant attraction to a youth, his thoughts of sex with an 18 year old. What did the psychology have to say? Libido? Depression? Opportunity? All or none of the above?

When they'd finished their steaks, Gerry looked across at Toby and without asking, called over the waitress and requested the dessert menu. Toby smiled in response. Not the sad, humourless grin from earlier in the conversation. A genuine, wide eyed sign of pleasure. He guessed desserts, indeed food for pleasure, was something missing in Toby's life. All those times Gerry treated his daughter Charlotte to the ice cream parlour or the candy store, or brought things home as surprises.

Andrea was the same. Chocolate coated strawberries were her tipple. Gerry smiled at the thought. Chocolate coated strawberries, champagne and sex on Saturday mornings. Their thing before Charlotte came along. And then, diapers and burping and....maybe that's where we went wrong, Gerry thought. Where I went wrong. Just letting things go when it got a little hard to find time in a busy schedule. But then, it's like that for everyone. Isn't it?

 

[tamgreen]

Toby's toes wiggled excitedly inside his new shoes as he waited for the dessert menu to come.

He shivered as a feeling of unreality washed over him, and he was sure all this must be a dream. But he could still taste his dinner on his tongue, could feel the satisfying heaviness of it in his stomach. He hoped that full feeling would last.

Gerry was quiet. Clearly he had plenty of reason to be distracted, and surely talking to a teenager about his problems wasn't all that interesting to him, especially since he had to do that shit for work all day.

Toby leaned on the table, propping up his elbows and leaning his chin on his palms, studying the man sitting across from him.

"Tell me about where you live," he decided - turnabout's fair play, right? "Do you have an apartment? Or like, an actual house? Is it nice? Do you have annoying neighbors?"

 

[ericrodman101]

"My house? Sure. It's just an ordinary house in an ordinary street..."

But that was wrong, from Toby's perspective at least. It was a fine house in a quiet street where everyone washed their car and mowed their yard, and the police only called to return lost property or tell teenagers to turn the music down.

"Not like where you live I guess, but it's not exclusive. Not like the houses on the heights. You know the heights?"

He watched Toby nod.

"It's out along the river road," Gerry said. "Andrea and I bought it when we were married. With our parents' help of course. We were very lucky to afford a new house. And we've extended it and had the garden landscaped...."

Gerry had an image of the landscaping at Toby's apartment, overturned trash cans and burned out cars.

"And now that we've paid off the mortgage and Andrea's earning good money at the college, we've thought about upgrading or buying a condo in Florida. Something like that...."

Gerry heard his own voice trail off. It all sounded so superficial and pointless. As if they'd be buying a new house now, after he'd caught Andrea fucking other men. Not that she knew he knew. But how long before that came out? He wondered if she was really at her mother's....

 

[tamgreen]

An ordinary house on an ordinary street. This, too, sounded like a dream. Like a house from TV, with a nice lawn and a fence around it. A landscaped garden! What must it be like to grow up in a house with a yard and a garden? To run across grass in bare feet, and never have to keep an eye out for needles?

A contented little smile lingered at Toby's lips until Gerry spoke of a condo in Florida. What? He wanted to move away? Would he still do that? With Andrea, that bitch who had betrayed him? Would he go on his own? Was he going to go away and never come back?

Toby tensed up against the fear that immediately seized him, switching back to his usual sour, belligerent self in a mere moment. His hands folded into tight fists that pressed angrily against his temples.

"Florida!" he spat, scowling across the table. "What kind of dumbfuck wants to live in fucking Florida? Florida's shit! Why the fuck would you go to Florida? What a stupid idea!"

 

[ericrodman101]

"Or somewhere warm by the beach. It doesn't have to be Florida. I don't especially like it as much as say, Hawaii or Southern California. But it's closer, you know, to ageing parents and friends. And maybe we won't move away at all. Not with Andrea's job. Not for a long while."

Even as he replied to the outburst, Gerry sensed Toby's anger was not really about Florida. Unless he'd had a bad experience there. Or his Mom was from there. First the kid smiled, then the old angry Toby returned, unexpected and red hot. But why? Why Florida?

Gerry watched Toby press his fists against his head. The fists were sign enough of problems, but against the head? Had Toby ever been medicated, Gerry thought? Or diagnosed?

Should he ask Toby about Florida? No.

"So, dessert. The apple pie sounds good...."

 

[tamgreen]

Ashamed of having succumbed to an outburst here in a public place where he'd wanted to behave himself and do things right, Toby shifted his fists so they covered his eyes and breathed hard, trying to calm himself.

Everything was different now - why did everything have to be different? His life sucked, so different should be good, but it was also scary. Here was someone who was kind to him, perfectly kind, generous, and cool in ways Toby would never have expected, and it definitely wasn't okay to yell and swear at him for no reason. Toby had to rethink and redirect all his instincts now, and that was hard. When he tried to put aside his rage, there were things behind it that felt so much worse. Things like fear and tears.

"I don't want you to move away," he forced out in a voice that was now weak and unsteady. He was still covering his eyes.

"And... and you shouldn't be with... her."

 

[ericrodman101]

"I...I...won't be moving away." Gerry managed to get the words out, but it sounded like someone else talking. Why didn't Toby want him to move away? And why give Toby a commitment not to? The whole situation was crazy, but Gerry said it anyway, without thinking except to make Toby less angry. His training as a guidance counsellor told him to lessen the anger, find the point of compromise, of moving forward. But a complete concession? Only to avoid violence or self harm. Here? In a restaurant? Gerry wondered what had come over him, speaking so quickly.

And Toby mentioned Andrea. 'You shouldn't be with...her.' Really? That long hesitation before 'her'. It was Andrea the kid was talking about, wasn't it? Which other woman had they spoken of? Toby's Mom. Charlotte. Yes...that was it.

He shouldn't be with Andrea. Toby phrased it like a direction, although his voice sounded wishful. Or was it a prediction. Not with Andrea? Why not? So she fucked other men. Maybe she'd been doing it before today. Maybe much earlier.

Was Gerry upset? Yes and no. It was a shock, especially to catch her fucking two much younger guys, but it wasn't like they were intimate anymore. I mean, there are lots of things to think about when a relationship changes, Gerry thought. But is that what's happening? What's going to happen? Gerry knew plenty of people who lived in open relationships, or in no relationships at all besides sharing the address they used to fuck at. He wasn't anywhere near working through these things in his head, but here was Toby sitting across the table drawing conclusions.

The waitress dropped the dessert menus in front of them. Toby was still covering his eyes with his hands. Gerry glanced down - apple pie, chocolate mud cake, ice cream. That was all.

"Apple pie and vanilla ice cream for me," Gerry said. "Toby, it's apple pie, chocolate mud cake, or ice cream, or a combination. What are you having?"

 

[tamgreen]

He wouldn't move away? Just like that? Was he bullshitting Toby, or was he just talking shit before? Was buying a condo in Florida just a thing old married people talked about but never followed through on?

But what did it matter anyway? At some point it was inevitable that Gerry would break the small, hopeful amount of trust the boy had in him, whether he was lying now or whether it would be something worse later. And he would leave, too. At some point. That was just how life worked. How humans worked. This was exactly why Toby had been so stubborn and belligerent to begin with. He'd been stung before and didn't want to let it happen again. It happened anyway. He let his guard down. He hopped right into the guy's fucking lap like a dumb dog that walks up to any human with its tail wagging, despite how many times it gets kicked.

But this was still different. It truly was. Why was it different with Gerry?

He lowered his face and peeked beneath his hands to survey the dessert menu, even though Gerry had already told him what the options were.

"Chocolate," he spoke up finally. "With ice cream. Please."

Please? He surprised even himself with that.

Why? Why was Gerry different? What made this all so unique and important? Toby had acknowledged within himself that he'd fucked up by getting close to Gerry and opening himself up. But somehow he wasn't regretting it. Even knowing he'd just end up hurt like always, maybe worse than ever, he still wanted to go down this path, more than anything. Why?

And then it occurred to him exactly why this all mattered so much. It was because, for once, he'd responded to someone else's pain and need instead of his own. It was Gerry falling apart over what his wife had done that pulled Toby in like a siren song. Whatever had happened in that office had unlocked something in the boy. For a strange, confusing, euphoric moment in time, they had needed each other, and now on some level Toby felt that they belonged to each other. He doubted Gerry felt the same way, though.

He slowly relaxed his hands and gathered the courage to look across the table at the older man despite the wetness around his eyes.

"I'm sorry for being an ass," he whispered, just loudly enough to be heard above the ambient noise. "And I know this is probably the worst day of your life. But it's the best day of mine. The best by far. I want you to know that."

 

[ericrodman101]

Gerry couldn't help but smile. He trusted it was a warm smile and that Toby could see he was smiling with him, and not at him. After ordering dessert eyes down and voice lowered, Toby pulled his hands away from his eyes and, looking straight at Gerry, made an extraordinary statement. After apologising, he described today as the best day of his life.

Gerry was touched and saddened. What sort of day it had been for him was hard to say. Andrea, Toby, anger, acceptance, arousal, embarrassment, shame. For a guy who usually felt in control, today had been everywhere.

"Thank you, Toby. I'm glad you've had a great day."

The waitress arrived with the desserts, apple pie for Gerry and chocolate mud cake and ice cream for Toby. "I hope you and your son are enjoying your meal," she said.

Gerry didn't know where to look. He nodded, eyes on the pie, suddenly realising that without any signal Toby might correct her and call him 'his uncle'. But looking up Toby was focused on his dessert, and maybe hadn't heard the waitress.

I'm glad too, Gerry thought to himself, for one helluva crazy day. Which isn't over yet...

 

[tamgreen]

Toby's eyes devoured the dessert that had been set in front of him long before he'd picked up his spoon to start eating. It was awfully pretty for something that had "mud" in its name. He'd never had anything so fancy or decadent before.

He finally noticed what the waitress had said and looked up with a slightly surprised look on his face. Son. The word travelled through his body like an electric shock. In a good way, he realized. It thrilled him to pieces that someone would call him Gerry's son. In the context of this temporary fantasy, it worked for him.

Smiling with unprecedented sweetness, he looked up at the waitress and nodded eagerly, not bothering to correct her. The misunderstanding could only improve his day.

"We really are," he spoke up.

Once the waitress had left, Toby directed his smile to Gerry, and then to his cake. Finally, he dug in. The cake was dense and fudgy with just the right amount of sweetness. It was very slightly warm in the middle, and the cold ice cream was a perfect contrast.

"Oh my god," he breathed after his first few bites. "This is.... You have to try it. You want to try it?"

He licked the sweetness from his lips and pushed his plate in Gerry's direction.

 

[ericrodman101]

Gerry heard Toby confirm for the waitress they were father and son. At least, that's what Gerry thought he heard. It was just a brief three words and as far as Gerry could tell, the waitress was walking away. When he looked up, however, Toby was sporting a wide, satisfied grin.

They watched each other, as if each was waiting for the other to start their dessert. It was on odd standoff, Gerry thought, the waitress's comments lingering, Toby smiling and making eyes, and all the while the desserts steaming under their noses.

When Toby finally began he seemed overwhelmed by what he was tasting. "You try it," he said, licking his lips and pushing the mud cake at Gerry.

Now, if there was one thing Gerry was not good at, it was sharing food. He didn't know why, but since childhood the thought of drinking from an opened bottle, or licking a used spoon, even if the prior user had been his parents or siblings, revolted him. It was the same when Charlotte was young. He recalled that Andrea always cleaned up what their daughter left on the plate, but not Gerry. No siree. Secondhand food was straightaway for the bin as far as he was concerned.

He smiled at Toby. "You enjoy it for yourself. I'm fine with the apple pie."

But when he tasted it, the pie was too hot, the crust limp, the filling medicinally tart. It wasn't really up to scratch.

Or was it just another wave of self doubt on a day of rollercoaster emotions?

 

[tamgreen]

Despite the man's smile, Toby felt somewhat deflated. Why couldn't he share his dessert with Gerry? Why wouldn't Gerry want to try it? It was about the most perfect thing he'd ever tasted. He didn't expect he would have many other opportunities in his life to eat like this, and it was certainly a new thing to him to have the slightest inclination to share something good that he had. He was proud of himself for making enough progress as a human being to make even the smallest sacrifice for another person. But Gerry didn't even want it?

Part of Toby wanted to get aggressive about it, like he had about pushing Gerry to be mad at Andrea.

Why won't you let me be nice to you?!

He took a few deep breaths to stave off his instinct toward anger and pulled his plate back toward himself, staring at Gerry curiously. The man wasn't frowning, but somehow Toby still sensed a certain darkness surrounding the man, like a stormcloud passing across the sun. The boy felt an odd ache inside his chest. He hated this feeling of helplessness. He wanted Gerry not to be sad, but he didn't seem to be able to do anything about it.

He slowly started eating his dessert again, trying to take full enjoyment out of every bite, but it wasn't easy to do so when Gerry couldn't enjoy it with him. Why did he need Gerry to enjoy this with him?

Why had this man turned his world so completely upside down? It was pleasure and torment all at once.

As he made his way through the cake and ice cream, his thoughts again flipped back to the brief time he'd spent in Gerry's lap, and the exhilarating sensation of a hard cock beneath his ass. Was there something he could do to make Gerry happy after all, even for a short time? Would Gerry let him? Would it just spoil everything? Would he even be good at... that? He had absolutely no experience, but how difficult could it be?

When Gerry next looked his way, Toby quickly lowered his eyes, blushing, as if his thoughts were written all over his face.

 

[ericrodman101]

Trying not to be too obvious, Gerry watched Toby finish his dessert. Gerry only toyed with his. It not only tasted unappetising, but after refusing to share Toby's dessert and then rethinking the whole day, the older man felt deflated again. And when Toby was finally finished, and Gerry looked openly towards him hoping to engage in conversation, the kid looked down. Was he blushing? Why? Gerry could only imagine that his refusal to share the mud cake had wounded the boy and he reminded himself to try harder to accommodate Toby's fragility.

'Why couldn't I share the cake?' he asked himself. 'Just this once wouldn't have hurt.' And so he stared at Toby, face set in a friendly grin, his internal monologue cycling through all the questions he couldn't answer.

"So how was that? You look like you enjoyed it," Gerry said, realising his own unfinished dessert was testament to the opposite. "Mine was disappointing. But I guess you can see that."

Gerry laughed, willing the boy to look up, to engage, hoping against hope that his infraction hadn't sent Toby into another spiral of anger.

 

[tamgreen]

Toby couldn't help smiling faintly, though his eyes were still on his plate, which was now empty save for only a few dribbles of melted ice cream and smears of fudge. He swiped his thumb through the remnants and licked it clean.

"Best thing I've ever eaten," he admitted.

His eyes flicked across the table to Gerry's plate. Was the pie actually bad, or was Gerry just too unhappy to enjoy a dessert? Toby picked up a fork and reached across slowly, his gaze traveling up to Gerry's face to gauge his reaction. He didn't seem to be minding Toby going for his leftovers, so Toby increased his speed and dug in, eventually pulling the man's plate toward him and shoveling down the uneaten pie. He supposed it wasn't as delicious as he'd have expected from a pie, but to him, it was still wonderful.

"You should have got the mud cake," he spoke up, setting down his fork. "It was way better. But I still liked that one. Sugar is sugar."

He wiped off his mouth with his napkin and then twisted it nervously in his hands. Where would this night go? Would he have an opportunity to do what he had been thinking about? Would he have the guts to even broach the subject?

"Thank you," he whispered. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but no more words came. Instead, he slid a hand across the table as if to take Gerry's hand, but he couldn't reach all the way. But maybe that was for the best - he couldn't be sure the man wanted to be touched. But Toby still hoped that he might want some kind of contact, or at least be okay with it. Gerry would have to meet him halfway.

 

[ericrodman101]

Toby leaned forward and placed his fork into the remains of Gerry's apple pie. He lifted his eyes and stared and when the older man didn't react, ate some of the leftovers. Gerry watched Toby progress until the kid pulled the plate over and finished the dessert.

"Sugar is sugar," Toby said, offering some sort of justification. Gerry didn't mind. He wasn't going to eat it.

Then Toby thanked him, quietly. Almost a whisper. Gerry waited for more, but Toby was silent. Unexpectedly, Toby put out a hand, across the table towards where Gerry's hand rested. For a moment Gerry thought Toby might touch him, just the fingertips, or maybe take his hand, holding it. A gesture of...what? Playfulness? Gratitude? Affection? Gerry waited for the touch, anticipating the lightness of Toby's skin on his. The kid had small hands, just as he was slightly built. If Gerry closed his eyes, the touch would be like a feather, or a kitten, the merest pressure feeling like an imagined touch, he guessed, without visual verification.

But Toby hesitated. His hand stopped moving towards Gerry and grounded mid-table. Caught in a no-man's land that was neither just the casual relaxation of a hand after a meal or the deliberate act of touching and taking hold of another to message your thoughts.

Gerry contemplated his response. A voice in his head said the kid was sending him a message which demanded a response. The obvious response. Take his hand. And here in a restaurant well enough lit for such a gesture not to seem provocative or sleazy. Besides, the waitress thought they were father and son, and so, Gerry thought, would the rest of the diners. If they even noticed the two holding hands.

Did fathers and sons hold hands nowadays? Did they touch? Gerry had never touched his father. Touching was as foreign as men crying or expressing their feelings to each other or their female acquaintances. He'd touched Charlotte, of course. Fathers were allowed to touch their daughters, and girls touched each other all the time. As for guidance counsellors, they were trained to never touch, never in any circumstances. If a student required touching that was their parents' responsibility, or their friends', or if there was no alternative, Mrs Bachelor's, the nurse. Unless, of course, the student was threatening or violent, in which case security could be called and the no-touch rule instantly overridden while the student was subdued, if not beaten to a pulp.

Gerry knew Toby wanted to be touched. He knew as soon as the 18 year old struck out with his hand so purposefully, only to come to a grinding halt halfway. He knew when he looked at Toby avoiding his eyes, his face flushing. And he knew why. They'd breached the no-touch rule several times today. There was no going back, even if the voice in Gerry's head was ringing out a loud 'no'.

There was no going back just as there was no going forward, at least for the moment. Gerry's fingertips tingled. He could slide his hand just a few inches and contact Toby's fingers. That would be enough. He didn't need to take the kid's hand, just contact it.

So he did.

Was it sexual? That merest contact? In part. Friendly. And conciliatory. A gesture of goodwill. A peace offering. A recognition of shared experience and common humanity.

And sexual. Gerry horrified himself. Getting aroused earlier, letting Toby feel his hard cock now seemed just a crude precursor to the statement he was articulating with his fingertips, the barest touch blaring out a message like a foghorn in a storm.

And then, before he even dared look into Toby's eyes, Gerry withdrew his hand. The message was there if Toby was mature enough to understand and wanted to receive it.

Now he looked at Toby. He coughed, confident that whatever he said when he spoke, his voice would sound like a novice actor reciting a poor script.

"Time to get the check if we're done," he said. "And then I think I'd better take you home."

 

[tamgreen]

Toby held his breath when Gerry touched his hand. Somehow the brief, almost feather-light touch, quickly withdrawn, had a stronger impact than a confident hand-holding might have. It suggested there was something inappropriate about the touch, something the counsellor wasn't allowed to do. Something the man was obviously a little nervous about. But Gerry touched him anyway. He crossed a boundary.

It was the symbolic nature of it that felt almost as intense for Toby as the sexually charged embrace in Gerry's office had been. He was immediately aroused and desperately wanted to be alone with the man.

"Okay," Toby said woodenly when Gerry spoke up about the check.

He stared at the centre of Gerry's chest as they waited for the waitress to come with the bill, contemplating the meaning of I'd better take you home. In his current state, with warmth and excitement and lust and a dash of confusion and nervousness roiling around inside him, he couldn't figure out exactly what the man had meant. It seemed like it should have been a straightforward statement, but the more he thought about it, the less clear it seemed. Were they going to Gerry's home... or was Gerry dropping Toby off at his apartment? Was he an idiot to think Gerry actually would take him, an eighteen-year-old student, home with him? Maybe so. But Toby felt like he'd told the man enough bits and pieces about his own home to make clear he didn't feel okay going back there. Or had he? He couldn't even remember now exactly what he'd disclosed.

Not eager to either embarrass himself or jinx something potentially amazing, Toby didn't ask for clarification. He'd wait and see whether Gerry was going to ask for his address, or whether he'd just take Toby home, like a little treasure he'd found on the street or an injured animal that needed a safe place to rest and recover.

Fortunately, the few minutes of wait time for Gerry to receive the bill and pay it with his credit card gave Toby enough time to let his body calm, and he no longer had tented jeans to embarrass himself by the time they were getting up to leave.

 

[ericrodman101]

When the check was paid and tip left, Gerry rose, looking back at Toby who seemed distracted by something in his lap. Maybe the kid had dropped some food there. He walked to the door, conscious of Toby holding back a little. But when he held the door open, the 18 year old slid through and waited for him on the sidewalk.

The evening was already cool and dark. Gerry could smell rain. He was concerned that Toby was under-dressed for the weather. He tried to recall the kid's home address from the file on his desk. Some mean street along the railroad tracks a bit. Gerry was familiar with it as a cut through to the interstate, but he'd never stopped there, let alone visited anyone. It was Central High territory mostly, and thank Christ for that. Occasionally Fillmore rehomed an incorrigible like Toby, who was too bad for Central and too good for jail, at least for the time being, but for the most part the schools kept their problems to themselves.

"Are you cold? Your place is only a few minutes. We should hurry before it starts to rain."

 

[tamgreen]

Toby's heart sank when Gerry's remark answered for him which "home" he'd been talking about. He should have known, but he was still terribly disappointed. He swallowed hard and shook his head.

"No. I'm not cold. It only gets really cold out just before dawn."

He flushed with embarrassment when he realized he might have just given away that he'd been sleeping outside, but then felt even stupider when he remembered that Gerry had two mornings in a row found him dozing on the steps of the school.

"Okay... let's go."

Toby stepped forward and started walking in the direction of home. It was strange walking these streets with another person. Strange and nice. He'd been wandering alone for so long. It made him feel less afraid at first, but the closer they came to his apartment block, the more the old gnawing dread started to return to him.

What was Gerry thinking about? What was he feeling? Was he, too, trying to avoid eye contact with sex workers, junkies, and panhandlers? Was he afraid, in a neighborhood like this? Was he uncomfortable? Grossed out?

As soon as his building came within sight, Toby stopped walking. His stomach twisted. He looked up at Gerry with wide, almost desperate eyes.

"I don't want to go home," he admitted in a fragile little voice. "And... I think she'd be happier if I didn't come home."

 

[ericrodman101]

Toby's neighbourhood was as Gerry remembered it. An urban wasteland. The American dream which they used to inspire the students, which everybody used to inspire themselves, had its antithesis in this neighbourhood. The American nightmare, Gerry thought. Maybe instead of field trips to visit the State House, museums, battlefields, the preserved homes of the good and great, Fillmore should just bring the students to the other side of town where they could see the absence of all the things which they were taught to venerate and admire. He made a mental note to suggest it at the next staff meeting and almost as quickly deleted it. Would anyone even get the point?

They turned into Toby's street. Gerry felt the kid starting to lag behind as if some hidden force was weighing him down. But it wasn't hidden at all. The force was in plain sight. Washington Street, which began which such rural bliss in the hills behind the heights across town, broadened into a noble boulevard as it passed the antebellum county court house set in its fine square, bustled with commerce, albeit dime stores and tattoo parlours in the approach to the depot, and then gasped its last as it crossed the tracks and slinked between the decaying tenements and rusting factories.

At first glance they were alone in the street, the minimum quota of street lamps glowing anaemically, an occasional car passing, scrawny cats sliding into the shadows. But if you concentrated it was like lifting an old mattress off a basement floor, and sensing the movement of cockroaches away from the light.

They passed a bar, door shut tight, music seeping into the street. Someone was inside. And then a vacant lot where a fire in a drum lit the brick walls, outlining the ghosts of people standing around.

At the next corner a woman with sad eyes stepped out to greet them, but seeing a farther and son, Gerry thought, moved away without speaking.

Toby hadn't revealed the street number, only led the way until he slowed and then stopped. They'd reached the last of the tenements. Ahead, Washington Street descended into a black canyon beneath a wide train yard. Even Gerry, who generally felt invisible when he walked in public, had no desire to descend into the gloom. To their left was a square three story box, some windows lit revealing broken panes and frayed curtains, but most unlit. This must be it.

Gerry turned and found Toby in obvious distress, his face creased with disgust. "I don't want to go home," he said. And then something about his mother not wanting him there.

Toby's words cut Gerry deeply. He wasn't surprised to hear Toby's reasons, but it was still heart rending. What kid's mother doesn't want them at home? Although as soon as he'd expressed that thought to himself, Gerry realised he could name dozens of mothers who'd pleaded with him in the guidance office not to send their children home.

"Are you sure?" Gerry asked. But of course Toby was sure. He wouldn't have said it otherwise. Toby was troubled and angry, but he wasn't a liar. He didn't make things up like that.

"Look," Gerry said, stepping up close and putting a friendly arm behind Toby's back. "We're here now and your mother may be wondering where you are. Mothers are like that even if they don't show it. Let's go inside, find you something warm to wear, and maybe your mother and I can say something useful to each other. Even if just to reassure her that you're making progress."

 

[tamgreen]

Toby wrung his hands, twisting his expression at several of Gerry's remarks. If he thought he could say anything "useful" to Toby's mother that would stick, he sure didn't know what all mothers are like.

Which mother would they even find up there, assuming she was even there at all? The one who thought Toby hung the moon? The one who thought he was a piece of shit that needed to get out of her way? The one who was so drunk and/or stoned she could barely tell who he was? It was always a crap shoot, though she'd always seemed to have the ability to pull out the sweet, adoring mother whenever social services came sniffing around. But Toby was old enough now that there had been no hint of social services in a long time, and likewise his mother had been less and less present in the past year or two, whether that meant zoning out or just leaving completely without a word.

Maybe she'd be dead. For a while now, he'd been half expecting that each time he came home. That's she'd OD, just like her brother.

"We'll see," he muttered. "I... I don't know if she'll be there or not. She goes away a lot. And... if she's there, she might not be alone."

He sighed and crossed his arms, seeming to shrink a little as he trudged closer to the languishing building, from which snippets of blaring music and random yelling emerged.

"Sorry, it... smells bad," he mumbled once they'd gone inside and started to make their way up the claustrophobic stairwell that had absorbed years' worth of cigarette and pot smoke, with a whiff of stale urine beneath.

There were so many things Toby felt like he needed to apologize for, having Gerry inside this wretched building. Everything about this place was bad, and he was pretty sure it would only get worse.

"Watch where you step," he added, "especially once we go inside. My mom was having... a party. Sometimes they last a few days. People leave... things lying around."

He led Gerry up a couple of floors, now and then squeezing past other residents, who gave Gerry strange looks - the clean-cut older man seemed to stick out around here as an outsider. All the while Toby stayed close to Gerry, as if for mutual protection.

Toby had a key handy, but usually it wasn't locked when his mother was home. He placed his hand on the knob and gave Gerry a long, nervous look, swallowing hard, before turning it.

The door opened. Before it got even halfway open, it bumped into something - a pair of shoes that had been carelessly left there. Toby leaned over to peek in. The shoes were men's shoes. Toby peeked back over his shoulder at Gerry.

"She's got a guy here," he whispered nervously. He reached out to take Gerry by the sleeve, needing to have the one safe person in his life close to him, after what happened last time he was in here.

He pushed the door to force the shoes out of the way and slipped inside, towing Gerry with him. Inside the apartment was a disaster zone, more so than usual. Empty bottles and cans were scattered everywhere among assorted garbage, but at least most of the people who had made this mess had left by now. He even spotted a used condom that had been at one point tossed against a wall and landed limply against the baseboard.

The apartment was just barely big enough for a tiny kitchen, a tiny bedroom (currently unoccupied), and an open area that fit a couch, a TV, and a couple of side tables, one of which was overturned. On the couch where Toby had always slept was the man who had harassed him earlier in the week, wearing nothing but his boxers, lying back with Toby's mother draped over him. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt that probably belonged to the man, and both looked barely conscious. Toby spotted a couple of syringes on the one upright table near them, and figured immediately they were coming down off a heroin high.

It was the man who noticed their presence first. He blinked drowsily at them.

"Hey - get the fuck outta here, kid," he sneered. His bloodshot eyes shifted to Gerry. "Who the fuck are you?"

Toby tensed up immediately. He shifted closer to Gerry.

"You don't have to talk to him," he whispered to the counsellor. "He's nobody."

Pulling Gerry further into the room, Toby watched his mother, trying to gauge whether she was awake or anywhere near coherent.

"Mom? Mom - wake up," he urged. "Mom, are you okay?"

Toby's mother made a small, sleepy noise and blinked a couple of times.

"Tobes?"

"Yeah mom. Can you wake up? Can you talk? Someone's here to talk to you."

"Hm?" she murmured, closing her eyes again. She was quiet for a few breaths and then spoke up faintly, "I'm out of cigarettes."

Toby sighed and shook his head, looking up at Gerry in a sort of despair. "Sorry," he whispered. "She's pretty far gone."

 

[ericrodman101]

In all his years as a guidance counsellor, Gerry had never seen anything like what confronted him in Toby's apartment. The smell, the rubbish, the drug paraphernalia lying openly on the floor, the adults in that state. He'd seen these things before, of course. At college. Visiting the homes of Fillmore students. In movies and TV. But here, in this squalid room, all these things seen together and Toby cringing beside him, this place felt like an embodiment of hopelessness, a harbinger for the end of the world. Gerry was revolted, sick in the stomach. Even as Toby told the half conscious woman who blinked at them Gerry had something to say, the older man was on the verge of instinctively grabbing the younger, and running downstairs. Anything to distance he and Toby from this dreadful place.

"Grab your things, Toby," he said. "Grab your things and we'll go. Now!"

 

[tamgreen]

At the moment, Toby was more troubled by the sick look on Gerry's face than he was by anything else here. He wished he'd never brought the man up here. He never wanted to see that expression again.

He looked around in a slight panic, Gerry's final Now! ringing in his ears. Grab his things - what things? What the hell did he have that was his, that would be much better than garbage? And did he have a chance at finding it in all this?

Breathing heavily, he found an empty plastic grocery bag and started to circle around the room, poking through the mess with the toes of his sneakers rather than put his hands into something that might be gross or sharp or both. He found some of his clothes that hadn't been washed in months and stuffed them into the grocery bag. He found some books he hadn't yet remembered to bring to school and deposited those into his backpack.

He stepped into the bathroom and immediately gagged at the mess in there. Clearly more than one person had vomited in here and hadn't been careful about it. He backed away, deciding he didn't need his toothbrush that badly. Maybe he could ask Gerry or the nurse to help him get a new one.

His mom's boyfriend's eyes were following him. Soon they flicked over to Gerry.

"You getting your dick sucked, old man?" he asked drowsily, smirking. "I knew the moment I saw the kid what he was good for."

"Shut up!" Toby hollered, kicking some garbage in his direction. He was horrified and humiliated, mostly because of what had been on his mind earlier. "It's not like that! Fuck you!"

"Ehh, fuck you, faggot," muttered the man, closing his eyes and seeming to be done with the exchange.

Breathing in short, rapid, shallow breaths, and with two vivid spots of red in his cheeks, Toby finished making the rounds of the apartment, finding very little to bring with him. He dug deep enough to find an ancient, threadbare stuffed animal and a small framed photo of himself and his mom when he was three or four years old, both of them looking happy with each other, like there was hope in the world. He stuffed both into his plastic grocery bag, which still wasn't even full.

"I should leave a note," he whispered to Gerry tremulously, and clenched his jaw as he found an old stub of a pencil and scribbled on the back of an envelope in the kitchen:

Mom,
I had to go
I love you but
I can't be around you anymore
Get help
Goodbye
Toby

He placed the note half under an empty vodka bottle, and placed his apartment key on top of it.

Once more, he tried to talk to her. Her boyfriend seemed to be out cold now, so he dared to venture close and touch her shoulder.

"Mom? Can you look at me, mom?"

"Mm."

She wasn't opening her eyes.

"Mom, I probably won't be back. Do you hear me?"

She mumbled something he couldn't understand, that ended with "cigarettes."

Toby felt like he might scream, or cry, or hit someone. Instead he just grabbed his backpack and his sad little grocery bag and trudged toward the door, staring pointedly at the floor. If he had to look anyone in the eyes right now, especially Gerry, he wasn't sure he could hold it together.