Shivering,and with sweat dripping into my eyes, I looked around a darkened room, trying to figure out where I was and what I was doing there. I was sitting on the floor and had a blanket wrapped around my shoulders.
I could hear a strong bass beat in the background, could almost feel it actually, and that helped jog my memory somewhat, helping me to realize I was at a club. It was at that point that I saw door open and big husky guy in his mid-fifties walked over to me.
"Who're you?" I asked, feeling so weak that the words were a strain on me.
He smiled down at me, and then reached out a huge brown hand and took my wrist gently. "I'm Philip," he said, and then flashed his teeth at me with a confident smile. "You passed out on the dance floor, and then the guy who owns this place, paged me, and here I am."
I nodded, feeling reassured by his presence for some reason. There was nothing threatening about him as he pushed his fingers against the inside of my wrist to take my pulse and even in my half-baked condition, I knew he was a decent person who meant me no harm.
How much "E" did you take and how long were you dancing?" he asked cheerfully, while he gently held one of my eyelids open and peered into it.
"I didn't..."
He chuckled. "C'mon now, I'm not a cop or anything, I'm a physician. I just need to know so I can help you."
"I don't remember," I said honestly, "I bought a couple off some guy and I think I took them both. I don't remember how long I was a dancing but it was a long time, I think."
He nodded, and then pulled a chair up to sit beside me. "You still feeling the effects?" he asked.
I shook my head. " Not really, I just feel weird, and kind of spaced out," I said tiredly.
He reached over to a water cooler I hadn't even known was there and then handed me a cup full of water. I drank it down eagerly, not realizing how thirsty I was until I saw the water in front of me.
He got me refill then looked seriously at me. "You know I ought to call your dad to come pick you up, you're too young to be at a place like this anyway. What do you think he'd say if he knew you were here and had taken drugs and passed out?"
I felt resentment at his words. "I'm an adult, not a kid. I'm nineteen."
"That old?" he asked, and I saw the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "But still, I bet your folks would be worried if they knew what you were up to. You don't want to worry them do you...uh" he stopped and smiled at me. "You didn't tell me your name."
I crushed the empty paper cup between my fingers, amazed at how much effort it took to do so, and it was at that point I started worrying about my health.
"My name's Trey," I answered, feeling the symptoms of hypoglycemia coming on. My stomach roiled with nausea and I was very light-headed."
He must've noticed something was wrong, because I felt his palm on my forehead. "You OK, buddy? You look kind of pale?"
I shook my head. "I just need a drink of orange juice or a candy or something," I said, and I could hear the slur in my voice that meant I needed it soon.
He pulled a packet of mints out of his shirt pocket and then handed me two of them. "Are you diabetic?"
"Yes sir," I said and then put the mints in my mouth. I don't know what posessed me to call Philip "sir", but it seemed right at the time.
He didn't say anything for a few minutes, just sat beside me.
I grew stronger after a couple of minutes, and could also tell the efects of the Ecstasy were wearing off and I told him that.
He shook his head at me, but he was smiling softly at me. "You know, you should know better than to party like this when you have diabetes. If I was your dad, I would kick your butt for pulling this kind of stunt, nineteen years old or not. Maybe I should just call him and let him know what you're up to."
"I don't have a dad, anymore, Philip. he died. Anyway, even if I had a father I wouldn't give you his phone number," I said somewhat petulantly, sort of liking the fact that Philip was taking an interest in me but sort of wanting him to mind his own business.
He chuckled a little, and then suddenly sobered. "I'm sorry you're dad died, Trey. My old man ran off on my mother when I was just little, but I still feel the loss sometimes. Even now, I feel like I need his guidance occasionally, though I'm fifty-three now."
"Yeah...." I began and then trailed off not knowing exactly what to say.
He looked at me for a ling time, his dark eyes seeming to look right inside of me, and for some reason I didn't really feel uncomfortable, because I looked back at him.
Suddenly he leaned forward and ruffled my hair. "Yeh, life can be a bitch. I was wild and angry for a long time after my daddy left us, but you know, I decided I'd have to do it for myself. I mean, I realized that I'd have to guide myself, because no one else was going to do it. That was a rough thing to realize, and it took a long time before I could straighten myself up, but I did it so I could try to be a man that I could be proud of.
"I guess I don't care if I'm a man I can be proud of." I shrugged, feeling helpless. "I mean, what does it matter what kind of man you are anyway? You know in the scheme of things?"
"It matters," he said with real conviction in his voice.
I pressed my lips together and nodded at him. "OK," I finally said, though I didn't believe what he said and was kind of confused at his lack of elaboration as to why it mattered.
He reached over and gently slapped my knee. "How about we get you to a hospital so you can get checked out?"
I shook my head. "No,no, no, this has happened before. I just need to eat something and then sleep, "I said quickly. "I don't need any hospitals."
I remembered that the last time I was in one of those horrible places, was when my dad had died, and I shuddered at the remembrance.
"OK, but at least let me drive you home. You can't drive yourself in this condition."
I thought about his offer. I hadn't driven to the club or anywhere in over six months because I had totaled the car my dad had left me, during one long night of self-pity and self-destruction, that had culminated in my driving head on into a tree. I had actually walked away with no more than an aching back and neck.
I agreed, being too wiped out to do anything else, and he dropped me off at front of my studio apartment. Just as I was starting to get out of the car, I felt a tap on my shoulder and I turned back to look at him.
He was holding out a card. "Here's my number, just in case you ever need anyone to talk to. Us fatherless guys have to stick together, you know."
He winked and smiled at me then, and I smiled back, taking the card from him and stuffing it into the back pocket of my jeans. "Thanks for the ride, I really appreciate it."
"No problem, whatsoever. You take good care of yourself, Ok? Or else I might have to come over here and kick your ass."
As I watched his car's tail lights blink as he drove away, a smile played at the corners of my mouth. The words, had been spoken in jest, of course, but there was something oddly comforting about them nonetheless.
When I walked into my apartment, I went directly to the bathroom to get my blood sugar monitor. My dad had always made sure I had used it at least three times a day, but when I picked it up I was a little startled to see that there was actually dust on the case .
As I was readying the monitor, I caught my own gaze in the mirror over the sink, and was frightened at what I saw: my skin was way beyond pale; almost a chalky white, and my eyes had deep dark circles around them
I wondered for a second what my dad would think if he saw me, and then I thought about how worried he'd be if he knew what kind of life I had been living since he had gone.
"Yeah," I said to my reflection but really talking to my father, "but your not here, your dead, So what does it matter?"
I was about to leave my testing supplies in the bathroom, and just crash out on my bed when I remembered Philip's simple but powerfully spoken words, "It does matter."
And even though I didn't understand why it mattered, I tested my blood sugar anyway. As I did it, I remembered, once again, how Philip had said he would kick my ass if I didn't take care of myself.
I clung to that thought for the rest of the night, letting it soothe me into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I kept Philip's card in a box on my dresser, occasionally taking it out and looking at it. There was something real and solid about that card being there, especially on the nights when I had no one to party with and I was stuck in my apartment with only myself for company.
Most of the time, I was busy, though, busy partying, or having unsafe sex with men in the back rooms of so many clubs that I forgot which face went with which club.
There were women too. It didn't matter to me at that point whether the delicate bits went inward or outward. I just wanted to feel sexual release and I got plenty of chances to do that.
The next time I met Philip was the night I was tweaked out of my head on crystal meth and had decided to stage dive with a few of the college frat guys I'd hooked up with earlier. They were the kind of guys that are so rowdy that most people step aside when they walk past, fearful of the mindless testosterone- driven motor which propelled them.
But, in my mindset, they seemed oddly appealing, so fierce in their barbarism, that it seemed almost unbearably sweet.
I laughed when they grabbed me with huge meaty hands, and their crushing hugs left me breathless. Whatever else they were, they were real, and they had some good crystal and that was all that really mattered, anyway.
So what if they called me "fag" as they roughly pushed my head down in the bathroom, so I could suck them off?
I went down the line and did all five of them, and then I came up smiling, holding my hand out for the bag of crystal I had been promised.
Later, when they shoved me toward the stage, my mind was racing a mile a minute and sweat was dripping off my body.
I felt invincible as I crawled up onto the stage in the darkened club, and as the speakers near the edge of the small stage deafened me, I felt the beat thrum through my whole body and I stretched my arms out like a jet plane.
I knew I could fly as I took the dive off the stage--just as security was closing in--and I spread my arms out as wide as they would go before I leapt with all my strength into the swarming sea of people below.
The pain of my landing was indescribable, because it wasn't the soft, pliable feel of human flesh that I felt beneath me, but the hard tile of the floor.
There was a loud crunch as my nose and mouth made contact with the floor, and then everything was...just agony.
I vaguely heard a few people yelling and then the thrumming bass beat stopped and the lights went on.
I know I was crying, and maybe I was screeching in pain too. Something wet, and sticky got inside my eyes stinging them, and I knew it was my own blood.
I was picked up and I heard a frightened voice say something about an ambulance, and it was at that point that I thought that I might die.
It's funny how you can go around not caring about dying, but then when it seems like it's staring you in the face, you care a lot, a whole lot! I cared as I was carried away from the crowd and taken outside. I cared as I was lying on my back trying to look up at the stars through blood-hazy vision.
I felt like a little lost boy, as strange faces looked down at me with concern, and I think I called out for my father.
I felt a strong hand clasping mine and I tried to focus on the face that was staring down at me.
"Philip..." I said slowly, my surprise at seeing him, being overridden by the pain I was experiencing, "I don't feel... well."
"Aw, Trey, what have you done to yourself?" His voice was gruff but I could sense the concern behind the harshness.
I also felt the strong squeeze of his hand, and I squeezed back, feeling like even if I died, at least I would be with someone I liked.
I remember bits and pieces of the ride in the ambulance. But, mostly I just remember Philip's presence there with me.
Much later, I was conscious, but heavily sedated when Philip strode into my hospital room with a small carton of milk in his hands, He shook his head disapprovingly at me. "Looks like you're going to live, but I had my doubts for a while."
I tried to give him a smile but my mouth was packed with gauze, so I don't know if I managed it or not.
He dragged a chair over to my bedside and I tried to turn my head to look at him. A wave of dizziness, prevented it, and I grimaced, closing my eyes to try to stop the spinning.
"I guess you know, you're in for a good butt-kicking," he said cheerfully after a few minutes, just as I was on the verge of dozing off. "You really messed up this time, didn't you, kid?"
I tried to nod.
"Mmm hmmm, you really did it this time."
I wanted to tell him that I knew that, but I couldn't speak through the packing in my mouth, and that frustrated me beyond belief. I felt I needed to defend myself against the criticism he was leveling at me, but I also knew that even if I could talk there wouldn't be much to say in my defense, because what I had done was beyond stupid.
I could see out of the corner of my eye when he leaned forward and set the carton of milk on the bedside tray, and then I saw the frown on his face before he sat back down. "Brought you some milk, but I guess by the time you're able to drink anything again, it will have gone sour."
I lightly moved my tongue around my mouth trying to feel what kind of damage there was and also trying to get my mind on something else so I wouldn't have to acknowledge the strong disapproval I felt emanating from Philip. It was too much to take that he now disapproved of me, when I had thought about him so much after our first meeting.
His card was in my wallet, and I wondered what he would think of that if he knew.
"You know, your blood sugar levels were through the roof," he continued on talking in that same tone, the kind of tone in which you might talk to an errant child.
I moved my hands a little, which was the only response I felt I could make at the time.
"Mmm hmmm, and you have a concussion and some broken teeth and a broken wrist and three cracked ribs."
"Mmmmm," I mumbled."
He suddenly stood up and bent over me, and brushed his thumb lightly across my cheek. I felt a sense of hope when I focused my eyes on his, because I thought maybe he didn't despise me after all.
His warm breath was blowing in my face when he spoke again, "I think it's good that you're going to have to stay here for a few days, because they can monitor your blood sugar. You obviously haven't been doing it on your own."
I felt ashamed for the first time in months, and shifted my eyes so I wouldn't have to look at him anymore. Even so, I could still feel him looking at me.
"What am I going to do with you?" he said calmly.
I moved my eyes back to look into his, and then the threat of tears burned the inside of my nose. My dad had said that same thing to me, on a few occasions when I was younger, usually after I had done something of which he had disapproved. Those words had always preceded a prolonged lecture; one which usually had me crying tears of remorse long before it was over.
There was long silence between us, as I looked at the walls. I knew he couldn't do anything with me, or for me, even if he wanted to, because there was just nothing to do.
In that silence, I realized I was alone, and this man who looked down at me was simply a curious observer, who had somehow stumbled into my life. I also realized, with a certain amount of bitterness, that if I was stupid enough to think that he really cared anything about me, then I deserved whatever I got.
"Well, anyway, thanks for coming to see me, I appreciate it," I managed through the packing in my mouth, while gauging his expression to see if he understood that my muffled words were words of dismissal.
He pressed his lips together and stared back at me, then shook his head slowly.
"You want me to go?" he asked. "Is that what you want?"
I nodded and and gave a little wave good-bye, and as I did so, I felt my last sliver of hope dissolving. I knew it was better that he left, because I didn't want or need any attachments, but it still hurt. It hurt worse than the dive off the stage in a way, and I closed my eyes so I wouldn't have to watch him walk away.
"You don't know what you want," he said gruffly, surprising me. "You're just a confused, hard-headed kid."
He tapped my forehead lightly with his knuckles, "Look, I've been there, and I know all the signs. You think you have it all figured out, don't you?" He was smiling at me, and for some reason I couldn't bring myself to feel much resentment at his words.
He chuckled and then sat back down. "I'm not leaving," he said gruffly, "so you'd better get used to the idea of having someone looking over your shoulder from now on. You got it?"
"Mmmm," I replied, not really believing what he said, but needing to believe it. I didn't fool myself though, there was no reason for Philip to care what happened to me. We barely even knew each other.
It felt good to have someone in the room with me, though, someone who seemed so sure of things, and I felt safe as I allowed myself to drift to sleep.
The next four or five days were a blur, I was on a morphine drip for the first three, and then was switched to a strong oral painkiller until my discharge.
On the third day they removed the gauze packing from my mouth, and it was then that I realized that all four of my front teeth had been broken off nearly to the gum line. "We can set you out on the front porch for Halloween. That way we won't need to buy a pumpkin," Philip had said with a grin when he first saw the damage.
"Ha ha," I replied sourly, but I wondered at the way he was talking. It was almost as if he had already decided that we were going to be friends come Halloween, or maybe even that we would be living in the same place. I felt confused, but I didn't say anything about it.
I don't know if he thought I was worried about my teeth or what, but he came closer to my bedside and patted me on the head like you would a lap dog. "No worries, Trey, I know an excellent dentist. Then once you're fixed up on the outside we can work on fixing you up on the inside, where it really counts."
"I don't know what you mean," I said tiredly.
"I think you do. You know, finding something that matters to you," he said in a serious tone, reminding of the words he spoke on the night we met. "And getting you back on the right track, so you can be a man you can be proud of."
I sighed, feeling weary of his talk. "I already told you Philip, that kind of stuff is meaningless to me to me."
He nodded in what seemed like an overly confident way. "I know, but we'll work on that."
I was still too tired to really argue much about anything. I had no intention of working on anything in my life because I just didn't care. Why couldn't he understand that?
The worst part of the whole hospital stay was when a drug counselor came to visit me. The conversation didn't last very long, but it was memorable.
"I don't have a drug problem," I told the counselor.
"The blood tests that were taken the night you were brought in tested positive for meth-amphetimine, as well as THC and MDMA."
"Why was my blood tested for drugs?" I countered.
"Dr. James requested a drug screening be done," the counselor had replied in a calm voice.
"I don't know who Dr. James is, but isn't that illegal to do without consent, or at least good cause?" I felt myself getting angry, and I glared at the man who sat in the chair beside my bed.
He seemed a little confused as he looked over at me and then he stared down his chart. "Dr. Philip James, resident at the hospital and guardian of Trey Michael Andrews requested a full drug screening, along with blood sugar and blood serum gas be done on admission," he read from his notes, and then looked up at me questioningly.
I gasped. "Philip, did that?" I murdered, feel numbed by what I had just heard.
The counselor continued looking at me as if he didn't understand what the problem was, and I guess he didn't.
I reined in my feelings long enough to tell him, "I'm not addicted to any of those things. I did use them that night because I was going clubbing, but I don't have a drug problem. If I did I would get help for it, but I don't."
He cleared his throat and then looked down at his file again. "You know your diabetes doesn't seem very well controlled at this point, for whatever reason, and complications-"
I cut him off, "I know that, I've been dealing with my condition since I was six, and I'm aware of all the complications that could arise from not being careful."
He shook his head and stood up, holding his file under his arm. "All right, thank you for talking with me."
"You're welcome," I said distractedly. I barely realized when he shut the door behind him, because I was still too stunned at the news that Philip had had me drug tested.
I had really worked myself up, and when he came to visit me in the late afternoon, I exploded at him almost immediately.
He just stood there looking calmly at me until I had was completely worn myself out from bitching at him, then sat down in the chair beside my bed. "One reason I requested that your blood be screened for substances was because you had a head injury, and your doctors needed as much information as possible in order to be able to treat you accurately. Certain substances can cause the veins surrounding the brain to either enlarge or shrink, Trey, and you were bleeding under your scalp at that time, so I thought it was important."
I felt embarrassed, at the explanation, realizing I had overreacted. "Oh," I said very quietly, "I didn't know."
He nodded tersely. "Why did you think I did it?"
I shrugged, feeling very subdued by Philip's patience with me. "I don't know. Some guy came in here and was trying to get me to admit I had a drug problem or something, and I thought maybe you had my blood tested to see if I was a big time druggie."
Philip leaned forward in his chair. "Do you think you have a drug problem?"
I forced a laugh, thinking maybe if I joked a little it would lighten the tension in the room. "Well, I have a problem with doing stupid things when I take drugs, if that's what you mean."
I smiled over at him, careful to keep my broken teeth hidden from view. He wasn't smiling back.
"No, Philip, I don't have a drug problem," I said just above a whisper, feeling like a little kid who was in trouble with his dad. It was a strange feeling, because there was something positive about the way he seemed to care, and yet I felt a little trapped by the gaze he leveled at me.
He smiled at me then, and it lightened my mood considerably. "Your doctor was telling me that you will be able to go home tomorrow."
"Yes! And I'm so glad to get out of here. The only thing is I have to be careful of my wrist and I can't exert myself too much at first." I said, feeling a small sense of enthusiasm at the prospect of going home.
"I want you to come stay at my house for a few weeks," he said matter-of-factly. "I'll fix you up a room of your own, and you can have free run of the place."
I was surprised by his offer. "Thanks for the offer, Philip, but I've got a place and I've got a couple of friends who can help me out until I'm one hundred percent again."
"Like those friends who were with you the night you got hurt? Those kind of friends to help you out?"
I could hear the critical tone in his voice, and I didn't like it. "Well, they're pretty good friends, actually, and the best thing about them is how they stay out of my business, and don't go around judging how I choose to live my life."
Philip gazed at me for a few seconds. "Maybe so, but I guess they don't see what I see when I look at you."
I tilted my chin up proudly, and then stared right back at him. "Oh yeah? And what do you see when you look at me?"
Philip sighed heavily. "I see a very lost young man who is foolishly killing himself."
I looked over at the television which had been on without the sound since the night I had been admitted, and watched a woman on a talk show wringing her hands, the tears running down her face. This isn't a talk show--I thought bitterly as I looked blankly at the screen--and If Philip wanted to see tears streaming down my face at his words then he was going to be sorely disappointed.
I looked back over at him, careful not to show any reaction to his words. "Yeah, maybe, but what I don't understand, is why you give a shit," I said bluntly, trying to cut through the crap and get right to the heart of the matter.
He smiled. "I already told you why I'm concerned. I was just like you once, and if I had had someone older and wiser to help me onto the right track, it wouldn't have taken me so long to find my way."
I frowned, trying to make sense of what he was telling me, and doubting that it could be as simple as he was making it out to be. I knew all about ulterior motives, mostly from the way I had been living my life recently, and I knew his explanation was just too neat.
"Um...ok, let me get this straight. You want me to come stay at your house so you can help me out of the goodness of your heart, with no strings attached. Is that what you're saying?"
I searched his face for any sign of disingenuity, while I waited for his reply.
"I didn't say there would be no strings," he said, a small enigmatic smile playing around the corners of his mouth.
"I smiled too, bitterness welling up within me. "You want me to suck you off or you want to fuck me in exchange, right?" I figured word must have spread about my "talents" and that he wanted to get in on the action.
The smile fell from his lips at my words, and was replaced with what looked to me like true confusion. "I beg your pardon?"
Realizing by his reaction that I had missed the mark, I quickly said, "I'm sorry, Philip, I guess I just don't understand what kind of strings you're talking about. I don't really have much to offer you in return, and I don't have an awful lot of energy to offer anything anyway."
For the first time since I had met him, his face had a hard look to it, and he sounded very tense when he spoke next. "The strings are that while you stay with me, you listen to what I tell you and we work together to get you strong again and on a solid path."
"Maybe, I don't want to be on a solid path. Maybe I'm happy with the path I'm on now. Did you ever think of that Philip?" I said, starting to weary of the discussion.
He nodded. "Yes, I thought of that. But then I thought of the night you got injured and how you called out for your daddy. A man doesn't call out for his father unless he needs someone to help him back onto a solid path."
I looked away, feeling deeply embarrassed by what he had just said. "I'm feeling really tired," I said quietly.
He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. "There's no shame in needing some help and guidance," he said gently. "And if you decide it's not working out, you will be free to leave at any time. I know from experience that the hardest part is just taking that first step. I know because my uncle offered me the same thing I'm offering to you, and I refused it, thinking it would make me less of a man. But, Trey, all you have to do is give me the nod, and then we'll work on the rest together.
I squirmed. "Why the hard sell, Philip?" I asked gruffly.
"Because, the next time you do something self-destructive might be the last, and I don't want you to die thinking that your life had no meaning.... That's no way for a man to die."
I felt the tears threatening again, but was determined not to let him see them. I swallowed the lump in my throat and demanded, "How do you know life isn't meaningless?"
"Because I'm seeing it from a different perspective than you, and I've had more time to figure out what's really important and what really does have meaning. I know there are a few things that do have meaning in this world." He laughed softly as he gave my shoulder a light cuff. "Maybe I'm stupid, but I can't give up on you kid, because looking at you is like seeing myself thirty years ago.
I bit at my lower lip, thinking about what he was saying.
"Sometimes I wish..." I started, then broke off, not even wanting to admit to myself that I was scared and lonely and that I needed someone to acknowledge my downward spiral.
He gave my shoulder a squeeze but said nothing.
I nodded. "All right, I'll give it a try, but I don't see what it's going to change. I really don't."
"I think that's partly up to you, but it's partly up to me too, because right now you're flying blind....We'll work on it."
He gave my shoulder a light pat and then got up from his chair and smiled down at me. "Check-out is at eight. I'll be here."
I nodded, and watched him leave the room, and when the door closed softly behind him, I let out the tears that were burning at my eyes, and as I did so, I remembered my dad saying something to me when he was very sick. He said, "I need to know that you are going to be all right, and that you're going to be able to go on and live a happy without me here to watch over you."
It was the first time I allowed myself to remember anything about that time, and the pain of the memory wrenched at my heart. "Why'd you have to die?" I rasped out in the quietness of the hospital room. Why did you have to leave me when you knew all along I couldn't make it without you?"
I buried my head in my pillow and allowed myself to cry for a minute or two, and then the rage of his leaving me alone in the world, stopped my grief short, leaving rage in its stead. "You should have taught me to be a little tougher, so I could make it," I ground out accusingly, not believing for a minute that he could hear me.
Then I pushed the button for the nurse, so I could get some meds to make me sleep.
Philip was there at exactly eight, and stood watching the nurse help me into the wheelchair with a big grin on his face. "You look almost normal again," he said as he handed me a cup of juice. "A little banged up, but pretty good, nonetheless."
I smiled and nodded, suddenly feeling very self-conscious and foolish in the wheelchair that the nurse had insisted I sit in on the trip to the car.
Philip helped me into the front seat, as I was still a little weak, and when he reached across to buckle my seat belt for me, I could smell his aftershave. A little jolt went through me, because the scent was the same as my dad used to wear.
"You OK, Trey?" He suddenly asked as he drove. "You in any pain?"
"Just a little tired," I lied, not wanting to tell him how the one small whiff of his aftershave had sent a cascade of grief through me.
Soon we were in his driveway and I looked through the windshield at the immaculate, white two story colonial "Nice house," I murmured. Then seeing the flower bed in front I asked, "Are those hydrangea?"
He seemed pleased by my question. "Yes they are. Do you like gardening?"
"Yeah I used to garden sometimes with my..." I smiled and shrugged. "If you want me to help out with any gardening, I can, I mean it's the least I can do since I'm staying here."
He gave my shoulder a light slap and then unbuckled my seat belt. "You've got yourself a deal. Now, lets go in, it's too chilly out here for an invalid like yourself."
Once we were inside,and he was leading me through the kitchen, I saw a poster board on the refrigerator with my name written on it in big blocky letters. "What's that?" I asked with curiosity.
"That's a list of rules for you," he said pleasantly as he steered me through and onto the guest room.
"Rules? What kind of rules," I asked, flopping down on the bed with exhaustion, and then holding my hand close to my chest as a wave of pain went through it when it hit the mattress.
Philip looked at his watch."It's time for your meds. Do you want an injection or pills? The injection will work faster, but I can give you either."
"Injection, please," I said through gritted teeth while rolling up my sleeve.
He left the room then, leaving me to wonder about the rules on the board on the refrigerator. He hadn't mentioned anything about a list of rules while we were at the hospital and I didn't like the idea of it, at all. It seemed childish, and besides rules were the last thing I needed. Just the idea of it exhausted me.
I looked at the door frame impatiently, wanting him to hurry back so I could get a few things settled.
His hands were steady and gentle as he swabbed my arm with alcohol, and I felt myself growing calmer, knowing that in a few minutes my pain would lessen. "Philip, I want to talk about that poster you put up on the fridge," I said though the pain in my hand was becoming almost unbearable. "I'm not some errant little kid that needs a bunch of rules, you know, and I'm trying to understand why you did that, because it's really freaking me out."
I watched as he slipped the needle into my bicep, thinking about how when I was very small my Dad had shown me how to give myself my own insulin shots, and how he had given me a little toy every time I did it by myself. I had been afraid of the needle and had gone into hysterics more than once when it was time for my shot. Dad had given me the injections for awhile until I had come to the realization that the shots were a part of my life and that I would feel more in control if I gave them to myself.
I looked at Philip, waiting for him to answer me, but his lips were pressed together. he appeared to be in deep concentration while he fooled with the paper of a bandage, finally sticking it gently on my arm.
After he had put all his medical supplies in a box, he looked at me and then sat down beside me on the bed. "Trey, you need solid guidance and structure, because your life is so out-of-control. I knew when I made up the list that you would balk at the idea, but I created it so you would have something solid and concrete to remind you of what is expected of you while you're here with me. My expectations are not unreasonable ones, really," he said and then smiled at me, "I just want you to take better care of yourself and to respect yourself. That's all I expect of you right now."
I looked away, trying to absorb what he had said and not knowing how to react. The medicine was beginning to work and I could feel a hazy warmth spreadng through me, dulling the pain considerably, and also numbing my concerns to a certain degree.
"Philip," I said, not knowing exactly how to ask the questions that had been niggling at my mind, "Um...I've been meaning to ask you a couple of things, like how come you told the staff at the hospital that you were my guardian and why you were at the club that time I got hurt? You don't really seem like a raver to me," I said with a drowsy smile.
He smiled back and then leaned back on his hands a little, looking relaxed and comfortable. "Those are easy questions to answer. I said I was your guardian because that was the only way to get those tests done, and I was at the club because the owner hired me on weekend nights to take care of any medical problems that might arise. The guy is an old friend."
"Oh..." I said lamely, feeling a sense of relief at his forthrightness, and becoming more bold because of it.
"Do you think I'm attractive?" I asked bluntly, having gotten the vibe that he might be gay, and trying to somehow make sense of things.
"He didn't even blink at the question. "Yes, I think you're very attractive. I imagine most people would. You know you're attractive, don't you?" he asked with a wide grin.
I nodded distractedly, agreeing with him. "I guess I mean, are you just doing all this because you find me attractive?"
"No, I'm not, Trey," he said quietly. "You seem to be asking the same question you were asking last night, only in a more acceptable way, so let me reassure you that I'm not doing this so I can get you into bed, because if I wanted that I would just ask you up front."
"OK, sorry," I said trying to keep my voice even. "I'm just trying to understand, that's all."
"I know," he said covering my pale hand with his dark one. "You seem exhausted though, so how about you rest for a while and then we'll talk more."
I agreed, and then lay back on the bedspread, looking around and trying to get my bearings in my new surroundings.
My gaze followed him as he picked up the medical kit and then went over and lowered the shades. "Philip?" I said quietly, hearing the slight slur in my voice from the pain meds which had fully kicked in.
"He turned from the window. "Yes, Trey?"
I lifted my bandaged hand, and made a sweeping gesture through the air. "I've been through a lot, and I don't know how much more I can take. Please don't...." My voice cracked and then the words drifted off into nothingness. What I had meant to ask him was not to add to my sorrow.
"I won't," he said simply and then walked out of the room closing the door softly behind him.
I was left wondering if he had really understood what I was trying to say, but the tide of sleep was carrying me away to a place where there was nothing but calm and peace, and I eagerly let it take me.
The next day, I felt heat rising to my cheeks as I held the poster board and silently read the rules that Philip had written down for me.
We were sitting on the bed in the guest room and my sleeve was once again rolled up for my pain shot. "This it totally ridiculous," I said resentfully, and then lay the poster face down on the bed. "I won't follow all these rules!"
Philip was tapping lightly on the syringe as he held it upright. "Which ones don't you agree with?" he asked in a maddeningly calm tone.
"Well, for thing," I said in outrage, "It says I can't go out at night. That's just wrong! What am I supposed to do if I can't go out, Philip? I'll go crazy with boredom!"
"You're too weak to go out, Trey. You need time to recuperate. I really don't think that rule is unfair," he said placidly.
His calmness was making me more distraught. "And I don't think you should be able to tell me that I can't take any more drugs!" I said loudly, leaning forward a little to make my point. "I'm not a junkie or anything, for god's sake. I just take them occasionally to have fun. I don't have much else, you know that!" I practically screeched at him.
He looked directly in my eyes, and although his voice was not loud when he spoke next, I felt a small thrill of fear run through me. "Lower your voice, Trey."
I opened my mouth to protest and then closed it again. I sighed loudly, but did what he said.
"Philip," I said, my voice low and quivering with the frustration I felt, "You're trying to take away all the things I'm used to--all the things that help me get by. If I had known that you were going to impose these kind of restrictions on me...well, I'm just not going to stay here, that's all. I'm going to go home."
I made a move to get up, but he put his free hand on my shoulder. "Listen, buddy, I know this seems like a lot to get used to, but I want you to consider what's waiting for you if you go home now."
His tone had been very soft when he spoke the words, but then he gave my shoulder a rough little shake. "Do you want to just to give up and self-destruct?" he demanded gruffly. "Because I don't want that for you. You have too much going for you to throw it all away because of a few simple changes that you can't understand, right now! You have your whole life in front of you. Right now you don't realize that, so I'm going to help you, but you have to let me do that!"
I was startled by his vehemence. "I never asked for your help," I said tilting my chin up proudly. "I never asked you for anything. I've never asked anything from anyone since my dad died, and you'd better remember that you offered something to me, not the other way around. I don't owe you anything, and I don't need anything from you."
My whole body was quivering in outrage as I strove to contain my temper.
Out of my peripheral vision I could see him shaking his head, and I followed suit. "It's not going to work," I said feeling a creeping feeling of bleakness numbing me inside. "It's just not going to work out, but it's nobody's fault." I added those last words in kindness because I didn't want Philip to blame himself, but I wasn't prepared in any way for his response.
"Oh, yes it is. It's your fault, Trey, if you leave here now. And the next time you overdose or break every bone in your body, don't you forget that."
The words stung, but I could also hear the pain behind them. I stared at him, not knowing what to say, and for once he looked away first. "I don't believe that what I'm asking of you is impossible, and as I've said we can tweak the rules a little bit so you can live fairly comfortably with them."
I could hear the hurt in his voice and so I tried to listen carefully though every fiber of my being was crying out for me to leave so I could be free of responsibility to him and to myself.
"I can't change the most fundamental rules because they are to protect you until you get better. I won't change the rule about the drugs because whether or not they actually caused your accident, they contributed to it."
He picked the poster up and looked thoughtfully at it. "The rule about the insulin is pretty common sense, and there really aren't many others here, except for the dietary rules."
He shook his head, and then looked at me. "Is the problem more with having rules at all, than with the ones I chose?" he asked gently.
I nodded. "I'm too tired to deal with rules. It feels like I'm being punished by having to follow them."
I watched him open an alcohol swab and then waited patiently while he gave me my injection.
"I know," he finally said. "But, all I'm asking is that you give it a chance. Like I said before, you're free to leave any time.
I nodded and lay back on the bed, as the medicine started doing its job, and even though I did not like the rules, I liked Philip, and I knew if I was really honest about it, it was just wanting to hang around with him that made me want to consider his plan. Nothing more.
I must have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing knew I heard a tap on the bedroom door.
Hey, Trey, how about we do a little gardening after breakfast? You feel up to it?"
I scratched uselessly at my cast and frowned. gardening did not sound like fun at all. Philip seems really psyched about it though, so I smiled and nodded. "Sure, sounds major," I said trying to sound sarcastic and blase, but realizing I just sounded really tired.
He chuckled. "OK, smart guy, see you downstairs in ten minutes...sharp."
I was about to say something about his bossiness, but he was gone before the words are were out of my mouth.
I went into the adjoining bathroom and wrapped a towel around my cast so I could shower, and then struggled one-handed to get out of my clothes.
Standing nude before the full length mirror on the back of the door, I surveyed the red-black bruises around my ribcage, gingerly touching them and then hissing in pain.
I started shaking then, remembering how afraid I had been that night that I would die, and then I wondered if my dad had been afraid when he was dying. The pain of the thought was too much to handle and when I stepped into the tub and under the steaming spray of water, I allowed myself the luxury of tears, knowing that the water would wash them away and down the drain.
"Watch your mouth," Philip said and then lightly cuffed my shoulder. "You can plant that, if you'd like, but then I want you to plant these."
I looked at the packets of seed he held in his hands, and I shook my head. "One handed? You want me to plant seed with one hand?" I asked in amazement.
"Yes, I know it will be a lot of work, but I think you can manage if you try."
I lifted a small spade in my good hand and began to dig into the earth. "Philip, if I do this work with you, will you go to the club with me tonight?" I asked him.
"No way," his voice was calm, but I could tell it would be hard to change his mind. I was going to try though, because I needed to go some place where I could be away from my own thoughts for a little while.
"Why not?" I asked him, trying very hard to keep my voice calm and level. "I mean what can I do wrong, if you're with me? I just...we can just listen to bands or something, and we can go whenever you say."
"No, Trey, you need time to recuperate," he replied. "We talked about this. One of the rules was no more clubs for awhile. Don't you remember?" he asked with a soft smile.
I dug my fingers deep into the ground, feeling a hot flush creeping up my neck. "Well, look, I'm going to go anyway, because I need to stop thinking for a while." I told him while I stared at the small, slightly-wilted tomato plant in it's container.
For a minute we were both quiet and all I could hear were a few birds chirping in a nearby tree.
"If you do that...."
I lifted my head, defiantly. "If I do that what?" I demanded. "Are you going to kick me out if I do that? I don't care, Philip, I already told you-"
"No, if you do that, I'll have to think of some way to punish you." he said a little more loudly than I had expected.
I quickly looked around to make sure none of his neighbors were in the adjoining yards before hissing at him. "What are you going to do about it? Kick my ass?"
The moment the words were out of my mouth I was mortified at having said them, and I didn't understand what had possessed me. I felt utterly stupid for turning his earlier teasing words into some sort of a challenge, and I wondered what he thought about that.
I sat completely still brushing my earth-covered fingers on my jeans, because as much as I regretted the stupidity of saying what I had, I needed to hear the answer.
"If that's what it takes to get through to you, then yeah, I'll kick your butt for you."
I gasped slightly at his words. "You don't really mean that do you?"
"Yes, I mean it," he said as he lifted one of the plants up to examine it. "If that's what it takes."
I was still gawking at him when he finally set the plant down and looked at me. "You're not going out tonight, because you agreed to try to follow the rules, right?"
I nodded slowly, trying to come to terms with this newest turn of events. I realized I felt an odd sense of comfort at his words, just like I had on the night we had first met. It took effort to kick someone's ass. It took...well, you had to care on some level to make that effort.
Why would anyone make that kind of effort for me? I wondered as I gently placed the droopy tomato plant into the hole I had prepared for it.
And then as I gently patted the earth around it, I realized nobody would, and I felt foolish for allowing myself that small bit of hope.
I didn't have a lot of stamina, and I think Philip noticed my shaking hand, as I dug a few more holes for the bean seeds he had handed me, because he suddenly wiped the back of his hand across his brow. "Whew, I'm not as young as I used to be, and this is hard work. How about we take a break and catch the Celtics game on tv?"
Sounds good," I said, feeling wiped out. We went inside, had a light lunch of soup and salad and then went to his den to watch the game. As we sat there, my arm started aching, and even though I had always been a big Celtics fan, I just couldn't concentrate.
As I glanced at Philip, I new what it was that I was craving and what I needed to make myself feel alive again. I needed to go out and party.
When Philip realized I was looking at him he turned his head toward me a and gave me a smile. "You feeling all right? Any pain?"
I shook my head and looked back at the television, even though my arm was hurting, because his concern was starting to make me feel guilty.
It was about 2:00 a.m. when I sneaked back in through the bedroom window, and I was feeling both really high and very smug at what I had just gotten away with.
I made my way over to the bed, feeling really strange, as if I was walking on air--on someone else's feet. "That's some pretty good shit," I whispered to myself, as I tried to quietly remove my Skechers and failing miserably because I kept misjudging where my feet were.
I lay back on the undulating bed, not careful of my wrist-- because I couldn't really feel it-- thinking about the evening that lay behind me. It glimmered in my mind, like the sparkle of independence. I had been free for the first time in over a week, and I had let go and forgotten everything else, with the help of a drug that had been given to me. "Ketamine," I murmured, drawing the word out like it was something rare and beautiful; something which had real meaning.
Free-falling back to the mundane world, I rolled over onto my bad arm,which I still could not feel, and fell into a sweet dreamless sleep.
I startled awake and sat up, my arm and hand throbbing in pain. I felt disoriented as I looked around frantically expecting to see the furniture in my apartment.
"Good morning."
I jumped, startled, and then shielded my eyes with my good hand and looked over at Philip. "Morning," I husked out, suddenly remembering where I was.
He was leaning against the open door. "Are you ready for your morning shot?" he asked. "How's your arm?"
I rubbed at the throbbing agony that my arm had turned into and tears of pain began leaking from my eyes.
Embarrassed, I looked down. "Hurts some," I admitted.
Philip, with quick efficiency had the needle prepped within a minute or so, but because my movements were so sluggish he had to help me roll up my sleeve.
Soon a warmth was coursing through me numbing the pain, and I looked up and gave him a smile of pure gratefulness. "Thanks, Philip, I don't know what I would do without your help."
He nodded but he didn't smile at me. He quietly sat down beside me on the bed and looked at me unblinkingly. "Where did you go last night?"
His direct question took me off guard, and my heart began to hammer in my chest while I tried to pull my thoughts together. "Um...".
His look didn't waver as he waited.
I cleared my throat, trying to buy time so I could get my equilibrium back. Fully aware of his promise just yesterday of what he would do to me, all the fear and yet strange desire to see if he really would carry through, made me feel tongue-tied. "I...uh...hmmm. Philip I never said I went anywhere," I finally managed.
"But, you did, Trey, because I checked on you and you weren't here. Now, do you want to tell me where you went after you gave me your word that you wouldn't go out?"
I felt bad then, knowing that I had broken my word to him so I told him everything, even about taking the Ketamine. The only thing I left out were my escapades in the mens room before I got high, and I guess that was because part of me really wanted his respect.
He shook his head after I finished and I could tell he was truly disappointed in me. "Trey, what's wrong with you, kid? We've talked and talked about how you have to take better care of yourself."
He sounded exasperated with me and my disappointment with his exasperation made me feel angry. "I don't understand what you expect from me," I said in a quiet tone, knowing he didn't like shouting. "I mean, I've been through a lot and now I have to stay in a strange place and-"
"What did I say would happen if you went out?" he asked in a tense voice, effectively cutting me off in the middle of my excuses.
I opened my mouth and then closed it again, like a fish gasping for air. When I finally got the words out my voice was all gravelly sounding. "You said you would kick my butt."
I could feel my face growing hot, and I looked down at my hands.
"That's right, and you said you understood that. So, why did you do it, Trey? Did you not believe me?"
"I don't know," I said just above a whisper.
I heard him sigh, and then he stood up from the bed. "I'm going to get my belt and then I'm going to whip your behind. You stay here, Trent, you understand?"
My mouth went dry as I watched him stride from the room, and before I knew it I was on my feet, following him. "Philip, no!" I said as I walked behind him. "For Fuck's sake, I'm too old for this, and I can't understand what your expect from me."
He stopped short, nearly causing me collide with him and then turned to face me. "I expect you to keep your word. You told me that you were not leaving the house last night, and you left anyway. I explained to you that you weren't well enough to do that and I also told you what to expect if you did go out." He was staring at me after he finished his explanation, his eyes dark and uncompromising, with no touch of humor in them.
I ran my hands through my hair, becoming more and more upset. "Philip, I still don't understand why you think you have to prove something to me. I believe you, I really do. You don't have to do this. I promise I'll do better."
He shook his head, and then turned and continued don the hall. "We had an agreement," he said over his shoulder.
"Why are you so angry?" I asked as I followed him. "You're not even acting like you usually do. I feel like I don't even know you, right now.
He stopped short again and this time I bumped into him.
"You do know me," he said in a gentler tone than he had been using. "I'm the same man who has been fretting about you these past days and worrying about what you were going to end up doing to yourself. I was afraid when I checked on you and saw you were gone, Trey, because you nearly killed yourself last time you went out."
I looked into his eyes and even though they still held resolve, there was a gentler look in them than I had seen earlier, and my own eyes filled with tears. "I've never been hit before," I admitted. "I'm worried about...." I stopped in the middle of my sentence not knowing exactly what I was worried about. "I'm injured, and I'm not...that strong, right now."
I looked down at me feet feeling immediately ashamed of what I had just said to him, and I was sure that I had lost any respect he had for me. I realized then, that his opinion of me mattered more than I had believed anything could matter.
I felt his hand on my shoulder and I hesitantly looked up. "A little old spanking is not going to hurt you," he said gently. "Trust me, and go back to your bedroom and wait, because you're not getting out of this."
I opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head firmly. "Go on, I'll be there in a minute."
I did what he said, and as I sat down on the bed, I tried to come to terms with what was going to happen. I remembered when he had jokingly threatened me that first night I had met him and how it somehow comforted me. Now I felt no comfort, only dread and shame that I had forced him to follow through.
But even as I sat there, my stomach knotted, and my hands sweating, there was a part of me that still needed proof that he was for real in his commitment to me, because underneath it all I still didn't believe it.
It seemed like forever before he came back, and when he did, and I saw the belt doubled up in his hand, I felt absolutely paralyzed.
He walked over and sat down beside me on the bed. I looked down at my feet, trying not to look at the belt or acknowledge it in any way.
"OK, Trey, stand up, so we can go ahead and get this over with," Philip instructed.
I did as he said, but as I felt him fumbling with the snap of my pants, my hands reflexively brushed at them. "I can do it myself, I said, my voice shaky with fear.
"Go ahead," Philip said so gently that I relaxed slightly.
I slowly unsnapped then unzipped my jeans, the dichotomy of wanting to put it off and yet hurry up and get it over with making my head spin. "I've never been spanked before, Philip," I basically repeated my earlier statement, wanting him to understand how anxious I was."
My good hand was hanging at my side at that point, and Philip reached over and clasped it warmly in his own. "I got plenty of spankings in my time, and I can tell you that it helped me remember not do whatever I got spanked for again."
"It's going to hurt, though," I said quietly, my stomach roiling in fearful anticipation.
"Mmm hmmm, but it won't hurt like the fall from the stage hurt. It'll sting but you'll be able to handle it, I promise. Now come on over my knees," he said as he guided me down and over his broad thighs.
I was sweating as I lay across his lap, and I couldn't decide if I was more scared or embarrassed by the childish position I was in.
Whomp!
His hand came down hard onto the seat of my jeans, which had slipped down over the top of my underwear, and I gasped a little. "Hurts," I managed before his hand landed again in the same spot.
His arm was wrapped tightly around my waist and as the heat mounted in my rump, I tested his hold to see if I could escape. Philip was stronger than me, though, and I knew I wasn't going anywhere...I also knew I couldn't fall, and on some level that meant a lot to me.
After a few minutes, Philip stopped spanking, and rested his hand on my back as I lay there panting. "Now, those jeans and shorts will have to come down, so I can be sure I am really getting through to you," he said. "Do you want to pull them down or shall I?"
I lifted my hips and tugged my jeans and briefs down, not wanting him to have to do something that intimate. "I don't think I can take anymore," I groaned out.
"I'll decide that."
I was about to say something when he continued the spanking. It had stung before but on bare skin the sting of his hand really caught me by surprise.
My eyes began to water as his hand descended in a slow, steady rhythm of pain. "I didn't know it would hurt...like this!" I gasped out as I desperately tensed my butt muscles in a vain attempt to lessen the pain. "Oh, shit! Please stop it Philip, I swear I'll listen to you next time."
"Good... because... I... don't... want... to...ever...have...to... do... this ...again" he said, punctuating each word with a hard snap of the belt.
My eyes watered fully at the pain that the belt was causing, and I swore to myself that I would never do anything that would cause me to feel it again. And then, finally, Philip stopped spanking me. His hand was resting ominously on my rear while he talked to me, though, so I tried my best to focus on his words.
"All you have to do is listen to me, and to rest and take care of yourself, is that too much to ask?"
"No, it's not too much to ask," I quickly said. "I get it now, Philip, I really do."
"OK, get up and pull up your pants, and then we'll have some breakfast."
He didn't have to tell me twice, and after I had fastened my jeans, I looked at Philip, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and admiration for him. "You weren't kidding about kicking my butt," I murmered as I rubbed gingerly at my sore behind.
He chuckled and feigned a punch at my belly. "No, I wasn't kidding. What do you think of that?"
I shook my head. "I don't know, I guess I know I can trust you to do what you say," I said feeling a little flustered at how comforted I felt by the realization. "I... don't know."
He got up from the bed and pulled me close for a hug, a hug I really needed at the moment. "You can trust me to do what I say and you can trust me when I tell you that things are going to get better for you."
His words touched me, and I allowed myself to believe them. "I'm sorry for sneaking out, Philip, I won't do it again."
He gave my back a pat and then the hug was over. "I'm glad. Now let's go eat and then we'll continue planting the garden, if you feel up to it.
"Sure," I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster, which wasn't a whole lot. It didn't really matter that much what I wanted, it mattered more what Philip wanted, because he was the one with the plan. He had taken the trouble and energy to bust my ass, and even though I knew it was ridiculous to feel reassured about something like that, I did.