The Dove Keeper (Frerard)

Chapter Four / Suffocation

I heard the distinct clank of the silverware against the ceramic dishes. I heard my mother sigh and my father clear his throat, fist pressed to his face sternly. I heard the food being sucked in their mouths, chewed softly between properly closed lips and then swallowed, consumed by the actions of consumption. I heard everything, and that was all I could do; hear. I kept my eyes staring down at my uneaten plate of green beans, sliced glazed ham and rice. It looked awful and it tasted just as bad as it looked. There was an unopened can of pop next to the dish that I hadn't even bothered to crack open. Usually, the moment I'm in the door and it's dinner time, I grab a can of pop and sometimes even finishing it before my mom sets our food down in front of us. Not this time. I wasn't even that hungry. And I didn't want to wash away the strong remnants of the wine that I had consumed at Gerard's place earlier that day. I could still feel the weird tingling taste of the bitter juice on my tongue as I rolled it around in my mouth trying to see if I could taste any different sensations. I had once hated the tang of the drink he had served me, but now I found it growing on me. Sort of like Gerard was doing.

It was clearly obvious to both of us as we stood in the doorway, my feet poised in the dark light of the hall that I was going to be coming back again tomorrow. When Gerard had first suggested it, briefly in conversation, I had been so nervous. I didn't know if I really wanted to go to an artist's house to help him clean while I drank his fancy wine. It just didn't sit right with me. But when he had taken the option away, saying that it was all up to me, I found myself faltering even more. Before he had somewhat demanded that I come by again. It was a declarative statement that gave me no choice; that was what had made me nervous. I needed to be in charge, at least somewhat. I needed to know what was going to go on and I didn't get that when Gerard had just insisted upon the act. When he told me I didn't have to go however, I found my heart leaping out of my chest. It wanted to stay. My heart felt like it belonged in that dingy paint filled apartment. I didn't realize how much I wanted it, until it was taken away. And I was in charge now. I could make the decision to go if I wanted to. And I did want to. But even if I was in control now, I still had no idea what was going to happen.

Going to Gerard's house tomorrow scared the shit out of me. I had no idea why exactly but anytime I thought about it, I felt my hands getting sweaty, my blood pound in my veins and my head spin. I was worried over something, but I couldn't quite grasp it and pull it away from all of the other spiraling images in my mind. I knew I was afraid of anyone finding out; that was a major concern right there. If anyone – especially my friends knew that I was going to be going to this fag artist's house then I knew that I would immediately be labeled as gay. It was not the first time something like that had happened, but I didn't want to rehash old memories again. I thought elementary school and the awkwardness of puberty was over at this point. I was seventeen and didn't need to get made fun of for popping a random boner in an all-boy gym class anymore. I was beyond that, but not everyone else was. Just the fact that I was talking to a gay person, an older one too, was bad enough. I suddenly started to wonder if anyone had seen us sitting together and talking at the park. But unless someone skipped school like I had and followed me directly, it was impossible. I was safe; for now.

There was a whole other aspect to the gay issue that I hadn't quite touched upon in my own mind yet, however. I knew subconsciously that if I was hanging out with Gerard, people would automatically assume that we were doing stuff together. Or that he was taking advantage of me. It was the classic case of pedophilia. He was in his forties and scoping out a high school student to 'tend to his supplies' after school? When I repeated that line in my head over and over again, it didn't sound right at all. And it even made me squirm in my seat a little, especially when I thought about Gerard drawing and staring at the little children from the day care. This could get mighty bad mighty fast. But even if the situation looked bad in words, I knew that deep down Gerard wasn't like that. I had only known the man for two days and in the first five minutes of meeting him he had coated me and my friends with paint, but despite conflicting words, his emotions and mannerisms did not match a pedophile.