Abducted Chapter Eleven: Bradford's Second Letter from the Retreat
In which Bradford is torn to pieces.
Chapter Eleven: Bradford's Second Letter from the Retreat
Dear Tabby, who will always be my biggest sister no matter what!
Before answering about your troubling dreams I must tell you the short and sweet tale of what happened last week. It is my sincerest hope that they do not read the letters we write. I’ll trust you that this is true so I don’t have to worry about mother or father thinking ill of me. You won’t, that’s why I love you.
These few weeks since receiving your letter have been both wonderous and strange beyond even my wildest dreams. To start, for the first time in my life I love what I see in the mirror. Not just the hardened, tempered exterior but the whole person staring back at me. I love his heart, humor, and mind, and joviality, and taste, and experiences. The good ones and even the bad ones like Dave and the policemen and the airplane crash.
Second I know for surety from the hairs on top of my head to the marrow in my bones I’m in love with Gabriel Johannsen. Yes, my former bully is now the apple of my eye. They say that happens sometimes. Some call it Stockholm syndrome. Looked it up last time we were allowed at the library. Tough using physical books and the Dewey decimal system, but I managed. Managed to find a lot about homosexuality too. As you can already guess the things mom and dad said about it aren’t true. Like nothing they ever say is true. But for sure, that’s what I am. A boy kisser.
And I like it.
In any case, I don’t know for sure that it’s Stockholm Syndrome as, here’s the kicker, the love is reciprocated. Found out after one of our hikes. After we’d washed ourselves and clothes, and made camp, and set a fire, and stoked it, and cooked venison, and were tired, and dressed for bed, I’d just drifted off to sleep in my bag when all of a sudden I was awoken by a shuffling. (No this is not a nightmare.) Knew it was Gabe because of the way he drags his feet sometimes when he walks like he’s still fat, when he’s not. Even his loose skin is gone.
Laid his sleeping bag next to mine, and got in it, and was facing me for a very long time with this look on his face like he was deciding something. Then he reached out and pushed a lock of my hair away from my face and tucked it behind my ear. Dunno if I mentioned it, but my hair is very long now. All of our hair is long, but mine is excessive the way it sprouts like weeds and tumbles over my shoulders. At times I tie it back but at night I let it go. In any case, now that his hand was hovering over my cheek he touched it with the flat of his palm and ran it down my neck.
Shivers of excitement that scampered through me then. Since he’d done it, I gathered it was okay for me to do the same and I was right. Forever like we just laid there stroking each other’s faces. Never knew there could be so much joy in just the feeling of someone’s skin against mine. Not as if I’ve never been touched or touched someone but that this touch in particular had different and very deliberate intentions. Funny, of all the things I’ve been made to feel guilty over, like for not being a genius, like not using the right silverware on occasion, or speaking out of turn, for this I felt no guilt at all. No pangs of sickness in my stomach, or heartburn, or hyperventilation, or suffocation, just us smiling at one another.
How I wish, memories didn’t fade, and moments like these lasted forever. The way his lips were so dark they were almost blood red. Teeth so white. His eyes so big and puppyish. Everywhere I looked was not enough, and I needed to drink him in. Where he’d hit me below my eye, some weeks back, there was still a healing black and blue. Ran his thumb over it said he was “sorry for the millionth time.” Put my hand to the bruise I gave him one on his cheek and said the same. He blushed and said, “it ain’t so bad it’s almost gone.”
That was when unbidden I’d eased his face to mine and kissed the bruise. And he let me! Like it was what he’d wanted me to do all the while. Let him kiss my bruise and all over my face and neck and finally on the lips. Gods what a feeling! My nose tucked next to his, our philtrum’s squished together. Could have been two seconds, could have been ten years, but it’s been my favorite moment of life so far. Thanks, sister, for slogging through all that but it was healthy to write it all down and to tell someone.
I’ve been daydreaming about more. This terrible, and wonderful human condition to need. To never be satisfied. Can see it on his face too when we’re working out in the fields he’ll stop his digging and I’ll stop mine and we share a look. Like there’s a wellspring of love inside of he and I to be shared any moment were alone. It’s been five days and I ache all over to put my hands on him again. Dunno if it can happen until we leave and even then I don’t know how to make it happen.
The first part of this letter was written last week but I had to stop because it was lights out and I don’t want to rewrite it all as I have so little time to devote to it. More’s happened since I last wrote. Lots more. Middle of the night I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. All was quiet but for snores, farts, and stirrings under blankets. Usually there’s the nocturnal ritual of boys hiding their masturbation under blankets or humping pillows but looking around, all were asleep. Tried to count sheep, or deep breathe, or imagine mother being put through a wood chipper and turned into jelly. Nothing worked. It’s not as if I’d never woken up like this. Just this time there was no comfort that would allow me to drift back to la-la land.
Ever had the feeling someone was thinking about you? For some reason I was drunk on the idea that Gabe too was awake and thinking about me over in cabin two. There were the usual signs; hot ears, a few sneezes, sudden hiccups I hid in my pillow, itchy eyes, intense hunger, all that plus the desire to go outside. Like he himself was calling in the night for me.
Normally you know I’d ignore such things as my scientific mind negates nonsense and old wives tales, but this feeling was so powerful I found myself dressing, putting on my socks and shoes, and wrapping myself in my blanket and stepping into the cold night air. It was like I was sleepwalking but awake if that makes sense.
The quad in the center of the camp was bare, with no fire or lights. Almost tripped three times over rocks and my blanket. Reached cabin two and peered in the window for Gabe. Had a mixed sort of fear and wonder when I found his bed was empty. Like as if I was right and he was out searching for me like I was for him. But also there was fear for where he’d gone. Hoped he was safe and sound wandering around out there. Alone.
That’s how I know it’s love. Though I’ve never known anything before this. Everything else, all thoughts, feelings, desires, sensations, sights, sounds, and experiences could be doubted- everything, but the intense worry I felt on seeing his empty bed solidified a truth in a universe full of question marks. I love this boy and want to marry him. Probably you think I’m silly and it’s just puppy love but I can assure you I mean it. Can even see the princely outfits we’ll wear while taking our vows. He’ll wear baby blue and I’ll wear white and we’ll exchange rings.
Would that I had thought it all through before I left the cabin last night in search of him. Before I let my penis do all the thinking for me. The evil divining rod. In truth, were you there probably you’d have advised against me searching the grounds, cabins, showers, outhouse, garden, and spillway, all that. Even went a mile up the mountain trail. Got muddy and tired checking the cove. Seemed he’d disappeared and was gone forever. Just when I’d found love, I’d lost it. Wanted to wake the counselors but I’d have to let them know I was up after lights out. Didn’t want to have to make up a lie. You know I’m not good at that.
Time I got back to the cabin it was near 5AM and though I wanted to stay up and worry my tired mind and body wouldn’t let me. Fell asleep for two seconds and woke at the cocks crow. Gods, I’d never ached so much in all my life. Washed and brushed and hurried to roll call. Inasmuch as I could stood tall and tried not to look around for him. Names shouted. “Here’s” shouted. But they skipped over him. Like as if he’d been erased from the ledger. Not one flinch from the others or even a question all day.
When shoveling in the pits I chanced asking Ziko if I knew where Gabe had gone. He looked around and shrugged, said to get digging before we were punished. Then chopping wood I asked Harold and got the same response. Dinner I tapped Paul on the shoulder to ask and he nudged my hand away and shook his head. For the past few days I’ve caught the others looking at me, and my ears and face getting hot. Seems my Gabe was sent away. I can’t escape the feeling it’s all my fault. Their judgement is like fire under my skin. I’m lost, sister.
Even worse is what happened next.
Gabe returned to us looking chipper as ever. Just showed up at lunch a few days later like he’d never left and nothing was wrong. His usually unsure steps, and awkward stuttering speech were gone. Chin high, shoulders back, looking everyone directly in the eyes. Even walked right up to me and said hello and shook my hand firmly whereas before it was soft, demure. Asked if he was okay, and unlike his usual breathy responses, he’d said, “I’m fine, Bradford. How have you been, brother?” It’s made all the more awkward by the fact of Gabe’s behavior and everyone’s acceptance of it. Like as if they didn’t know him before. Not like I did anyway.
His hair combed straight, his teeth brushed three times a day, his nails cropped evenly, napkin and towel in his lap at every damn meal! Didn’t talk about Star Trek, Star Wars, spiders, or Elon Musk. Was like someone had taken all that was sweet and good about him and torn it away and turned him into just another simpering rich boy who’d never look at me that way again.
Maybe I was stupid for thinking a few kisses were worth changing my life over. I know mother and father would never let any of that happen but a boy can dream can’t he? Maybe he can’t. Maybe that was the lesson in the first place. To have my heart assembled and broken. Don’t worry, dear sister. I’ve not slipped into depression again. Instead, this time I hurt but am tempered. Cautious to the last. Guarding my true feelings and keeping a straight face.
Write back soon, please?
Love,
Bradford.
P.S. Sorry I didn’t discuss your dreams. They are troubling to say the least but I’m sure you have the strength to weather through.