Not Just A Fantasy (Angel)

A String of Pearls

     But too soon the sun started to graze the tips of the mountains in the horizon, and the bucket filled, and the boys headed back to Frank's home. Frank was still careful around Gerard, and after grabbing his hand, he didn't touch him again. He was almost a killer, and as much as he wanted to get past that, he couldn't, for the boys sake.

     So after they ducked under the tarp covering the entrance to his home, he once again retreated to his corner, refusing Gerard's offers of sleeping in the bed with a shake of his head. He didn't know what he might do. He curled up, ready to spend another night on the floor, but then he heard light footsteps creeping across the floor, and felt a blanket drape itself across his shoulders. He opened his eyes and smiled gratefully at Gerard who then gave him a pillow as well. The boy smiled back and walked back to the bed. Frank couldn't sleep though. He just kept looking at the caring boy sleeping on the bed, who had a heart of gold. Slowly, his eyelids fell shut and he slept. 

*     *     *

     Gerard watched as his angel slowly slipped into sleep, and, when he was sure he was sound asleep, he quietly crept out of the bed and towards the hole in the wall. He had had an amazing day- The best in a long time. But he couldn't be a burden to this boy anymore. Besides, he knew he would get a beating if he arrived now, and a worse beating if he came back home any later.

     Before he left though, he took a crumpled piece of paper out of his coat pocket, scrawled a single word on it, and wedged it in with the blueberries in the bucket they had picked today. He hoped the boy would figure it out. He hoped the boy would visit him. He wanted to see this mute, homeless boy again.

     And with a last look at the sleeping boy, he slipped out, gently closing the tarp behind him as he stepped into the cool night air, and with the crickets chirping at him and mosquitos buzzing in his ears, he stepped back from heaven and into his life again. 

     Gerard finally relaxed as he slid in between his blankets. If his count was right, he had been hit three times in the face, two in the stomach, and one punch from his drunk father had landed on his side. He knew those would bruise, badly. But Gerard wasn't one of those guys who changed in full view in the locker rooms, who wore the muscle shirts. No one had ever seen just how many bruises discolored his pale skin, and he didn't intend for anyone to see it. The hits on his face he could hide underneath long sleeve shirts and jeans, but he could hide a black eye fairly well with make-up, as well as the redness left by a slap. He'd certainly had enough practice. 

     But the next day, as he examined himself in the mirror after a shower, he saw just how many times he had been hit. The bruises, he thought, was a new record for him. Gerard chuckled dryly at that thought. His legs only had a couple small ones and a large bruise on his thigh from the bat a few days ago. His arms were mostly bruise-free, but his back had a quite large one, and on his side the new bruise form last night showed starkly in a dark brown color, maybe as wide as his palm. But his stomach was the full glory. He had bruises on bruises, he knew, that that only made them darker. A huge chain of bruises worked its way from his right hip bone to a few inches below his prominent collarbone, like pearls on a string, in black and brown and purple. Gerard shivered and pulled on a shirt, hiding the bruises like they were never there, but he knew they were. He promised to himself he'd never let anyone see this. He'd never let anyone see just how broken he was. 

*     *     *

     Frank could only stare with a heavy heart at the empty bed. Gerard was gone. By choice, he knew. He would have heard someone being dragged away, and, besides, no one knew about this place. Frank had made sure of it. It was because of Frank. Maybe he had scared his away with the almost killing someone and everything. Maybe he was tired of Frank's silent presence. Maybe he wanted to get back to really human civilization instead of a homeless boy.

     Frank reached up to wipe the tears form his cheeks. He had no idea why he was crying. It was just another person, abandoning him. It had happened to Frank before. He was probably just a horrible person who no one could stand to be living with for a day. He had tried to help him, had tried to bond with the boy. He had thought they were friends. He had guessed wrong. 

      Convinced that it had been him to drive Gerard away, he ignored the blueberries- they were just a painful reminder of him. Instead he ignored the food and grabbed his bag on his way out the door. Today, he was running to the mountains.