Flip

Flip Part 9

Philip silently trudged down the street and the long line of multicolored firetrucks, his boots scuffing along the wet asphalt. He knew it hadn't rained, but the various water supply tankers were commonly referred to as slugs, not only because of their slow speed - it was hard to get three thousand gallons of water to move - but because some of them were notorious for their habit of leaving trails of water all over the roads whenever they started or stopped.

He remained silent and merely nodded under the load of his and Jeff's gear as some of the other firefighters from other departments congratulated him about his and Terry's actions up on the third floor of the burned out apartment building. He felt his face burning slightly under the recognition he received. He wondered what all those men would think if they knew what Mary now did.

Silently cursing Jeff and Peter again, he breathed out explosively as he yanked the rear door of the pumper's cab open and deposited his load inside. He let his thoughts return to the here and now as he unsnapped his bunker pants and slipped the suspenders off of his shoulders, the wet coveralls finally allowed to pull away from his bare skin underneath. He couldn't help but shiver as he scanned the floor for his sneakers he thought he'd carried with him when they'd left the station.

Philip grimaced in irritation and searched again for his missing shoes before he quickly pulled the suspenders back up. He'd just have to stay in his boots and pants after all, unless Bill knew what may have happened to them.

"Bill, what are we going to do?" Philip barely heard Mary's voice from the other side of the truck and moved with trepidation around to sit on the extended front bumper. His heart thumped loudly in his ears. There could only be one reason for the hidden conference between his station captain and his new female assistant chief. "You and I both know that if the others had known the boy was gay, there would have been enough `no' votes to keep him out of the department."

"Yeah, I know." Bill quickly glanced around. He uncomfortably shifted his feet. His initial reaction would have been a `no' vote as well and he couldn't reconcile his initial feelings with the boy he'd gotten to really know and respect. "I don't know what to tell you. The boy's gon'a be my vote for rookie of the year if he keeps doing what he's been doing. We can't just kick him out."

"I know the boy's got heart and drive, and I don't want to lose him either..." She turned her head to look down the line of flashing lights as if trying to spot their tanker sitting in line way ahead. "But, I don't know how the other stations will take it. He may be more of a problem than it's worth."

"He's out of my station," Bill said flatly. "He's one of my crew, and I'll tell you this, Terry's already said that if we kicked him out now, he'd go too. He said, `That's bullshit!' and I tend to agree with him. Terry'd go anywhere with the kid now. He's proved himself to me and to most of the others in the station."

"Still, I've got to look out for the department as a whole." Mary glanced at her booted feet, not wanting to look the older man in the eyes. She'd seen first-hand what the young man was capable of, how hard he'd worked. "He could hurt the department. I don't think the others will accept a gay."

"Then don't ask them to." Bill felt his hackles rise and his defenses come into play. Above all else, one of his members was being attacked and he wouldn't stand by without a fight. "You and some of the others might just see a fag, but all I see is a firefighter! And that's all that counts to me. I also see an earnest young man who needs our help as well. His mom called me this morning. She has cancer,"

"Bill! How dare you!" Mary's eyes flicked up to angrily stare through the station captain. "Flip is not just a fag to me! I know he's a firefighter. I saw that tonight myself! But...."

"No!" Bill restrained his smile. She had just conceded everything to him, though she didn't know it yet. "No buts'. He's one of my firefighters, there is no 'but'." He turned back toward the front of the engine to also gaze down the line of trucks and noticed one of the ambulances pull out quietly. There was no need for lights and siren where Jeff's injury was concerned. He sighed deeply, the department should be gathering around Philip right now, supporting him, not threatening to throw him away. He figured if anyone was going to complain about Flip, it would be his two daughters. They'd been driving him nuts with their constant questions about the six boys and Philip in particular. He could only imagine their disappointment, but once they learned about his mom and the other trials he was going through, they'd probably be hanging off him anyway, competing with each other to comfort' him. He almost chuckled to himself. First he'd see his firefighter through this trial, then he'd be there to see him through the trial his daughters would bring. He couldn't abandon Flip to those two.

"Philip?" Bill stopped suddenly as he saw the shadow cast from the pumper's headlights. He felt a cold chill at the thought of the boy listening to their heated confrontation. "Com'ere, son."

"Yes, sir." Philip gulped back the hard lump in his throat and quietly slipped off the bumper to approach the two officers, shoulders hung in despair. The thought of his somehow damaging the department had stung him to the core and his vow to stay was suddenly framed in a new and hopeless light.

"Philip?" Bill reached out and grasped the youth's muscular shoulder with a firm grip. His brain wanted to scream at him, their conversation could have, no, should have taken place back at the station. The youth he was presented with now wasn't the fiery boy who should be celebrating a job well done, but was instead a young man beaten down, facing the end of his dreams. Bill sighed as he recognized himself in those, now dull, blue eyes that furtively looked back at him.

He'd been forced into a similar situation when he'd once taken the entrance exam for an air traffic control position and passed with a grade in the top ten, only to be told he was disqualified by his diabetes. He couldn't change that about himself any more than Philip could change his feelings now. He knew it wasn't truly the same, being gay wasn't a disease, but the end results were the same. He came to his decision then as he continued to regard the boy in front of him, trying to catch his eyes. He knew he wasn't the detached professional any more. His own heart was aching for Philip like a father to a son. The realization shocked him briefly, the boy had his own family, but he couldn't help it.

"Philip, look at me," Bill continued quietly, finally catching the youth's eyes. "First, is what Jeff and Peter said true?"

"Y...Yes, sir," Philip whispered. It was all over now with just those two simple words. He shrugged to break the grip the older man had on him and quickly turned. It was bad enough to fail at what he'd loved doing without the others seeing the tears that had started to streak his cheeks. "I...I...I'll resign. Y...you w...won't have to worry about having a f...f...fag around."

"Philip, stop!" Bill reestablished his hold but didn't try to turn the young man. He knew what Philip was hiding now, he could hear it in the youth's voice and didn't want to embarrass him further. He glanced over at his assistant Chief, his own eyes burning now. "If you're gon'a resign, it's gon'a take a better reason than that. Whatever else you may be, you're a firefighter. That's all that counts to me, son."

He paused then, glad to feel Philip stop trying to move away from him. He'd called all the younger men at the station son', it was just a figure of speech in the past but not now. He flashed another silent challenge toward Mary, then smiled to soften it. He'd need her as an ally. "Your resignation isn't accepted. Fraid you're still a member. We need you and..., with what your mom told me, you're gon'a need us too."

Bill felt himself puff up with pride in Philip's skills. "Once a firefighter, always a firefighter. You're part of the brotherhood....er..." He glanced back at Mary again and grinned, his words meant for her as much as Philip, "...and sisterhood. Don't ever forget that. It's as much a part of you now as anything else. Don't worry about the other stations, it's time for me to teach another `history of firefighting and what it means to be one' class anyway."

"Now..." He released the redheaded boy he'd trained and guided and grown to care for, swatting his behind through the heavy synthetic cloth. "Get in the engine, we were released ten minutes ago, and I hear the doughnut shop calling us. I'm buying, then you need to get to school and I've got'a pick Jeff up from the hospital."

Philip stood under the showerhead, letting the water and steam soothe his worn muscles. It wasn't the firefighting part that led to the cramps tracing through his body, from his hands to his feet, but the hours he and Terry had spent with a pike-pole and shovel as the fire building was overhauled, looking for more hidden flames. His mom was already up when he dragged into the house and had immediately shoved a couple of bananas at him to replenish the potassium he'd sweated out of his body. That was the one fruit she'd always kept around the house due to his almost fanatic work-out sessions.

He regretfully shut off the water and, grabbing a towel, stepped out and quickly stepped into his room. His filthy coveralls were gone and he silently thanked his mom while feeling guilty at the same time. He sure didn't want to be in school today of all days. His mom had been adamant, though, that he go. She would expect him at the hospital to visit her afterward but insisted his schedule not be changed at all. He thought it was stupid, he'd never be able to concentrate anyway, but honored her wishes. He had to hurry if he was going to pick up Marty that morning but found himself reacting to his thoughts of his new black-haired friend. He couldn't help it as his imagination worked overtime, wondering what was hidden under the long sleeves and pants Marty always wore since he'd been released home. He silently figured Marty would need time to accept that he was still attractive to others despite being minus half of his left leg, as he fingered his growing erection. Marty was certainly a beautiful person to him anyway, whole legs or not. He wasn't falling in love with Marty's legs, but with the whole package.

He quickly shook himself back to the real world and grabbed a clean pair of briefs, stuffing himself into them as he dressed. He needed to hurry so he could see his mom and receive the last of her instructions for him while she'd be away.

He stopped for a moment before leaving the comfort of his room, his hand on the doorknob and heart pounding. If Jamie and the others carried out their threat, his life would be an open book for all the other students to read and spit on. He so wanted to tell his mom, he wanted that refuge so badly it hurt his chest, but that was impossible. He couldn't hurt her now or ever. At least she'd be in the hospital and hopefully out of reach of the whispers and rumors.

"...Philip has handled the news just fine so far." Philip stopped and glanced through the crack left by his mom's partially closed door. She was on the phone as he guiltily leaned closer; it seemed to be his day for spying. "He's grown into a strong young man. Physically, he'd be performing well on the rings if I'd been able to afford a coach for him," she quietly reassured the person on the other end of the line. "...Yeah, I know, he still gets in too many fights, but the fire department should help give him the mental support to face whatever happens, that and a support group based at the hospital. He won't be alone."

Philip intently watched her shoulders sag slightly while she listened to whatever was being said in her ear. He figured Bill and Terry would be on his side, and maybe even Mary, but the others he couldn't be sure of. Peter had refused to look at him during their trip back to the station, and had only spoken apologetically to the two officers about his own failure to stay with and rescue Jeff when he'd started to fall through the third floor of the burned out apartment they'd been in. Philip had no idea what would happen and how Peter would handle having Terry and the `little fag' save his best friend while he'd run out of there.

"...No, I don't think he's ready to see you or talk to you again." Philip's mom responded quietly into the phone. "Yes, I know you've done the counseling and you're sorry, but every time I've brought it up in the past, he refuses to even talk about it..."

Philip felt his chest tighten involuntarily as he leaned against the wall in the hallway. She was talking to his dad! He also felt an unthinking rage flare at this unexpected and unwelcome intrusion. He had to force his fists to relax while his back ached suddenly from the remembered belt strokes he'd received from the bastard for whatever boyhood transgression he'd been guilty of at the time. His father's violent reactions to them had been what had finally led to his parents' divorce and he'd promised, even after the man's actions had been hushed up, that he would kill him if he ever touched his mom or himself again!

"OK, Eric, I'll try again...Do you want to hold now or try later after I try to talk to him again?" Mrs. Nevins sighed quickly before calling out, "Philip! Could you come here a moment? You have someone who really wants to talk to you."

"Is it my father?" Philip couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice as he dutifully stepped through the door to his mom's bedroom, stopping just inside. He glanced from his mom's confused, affirmative head shake toward the receiver in her hand outstretched to him. "You tell the `sperm-donor' I never want to talk to him! I don't have a father any more!" Philip had to bite his lower lip to keep from adding that the feeling would be mutual if his dad ever learned he'd had a fag for a son.

"Philip! Stop it!" she snapped back before softening her tone. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, she hadn't gotten much sleep recently. "Your dad has changed, he's sorry for what happened in the past. He loves you and wants to talk to you. It's been too long, he's still your dad!"

"Yeah, right, he's changed!" Philip quietly turned away to leave the room as quickly as he could. His eyes were clear and dry but he didn't want his mom to see the raw hatred that burned just below the surface. "He probably just has a better aim!"

"OK, Philip..." his mom sighed again at his retreating back, the phone in her hand temporarily forgotten. "I'll be out in a minute to go over the last of what you'll need to do while I'm in the hospital...."

"Gabriel?" Marty glanced apprehensively over his shoulder at the sound of his father's voice as he placed his empty cereal bowl in the kitchen sink. He forced his breath out and turned on his good leg to face the man still sitting at the table, his crutches forgotten against the countertop. He'd almost dropped the bowl when his dad had spoken to him, but the voice had been strangely calm, without the frustrated anger it usually dripped with. He stood quietly, wondering what further fault would be pointed out to confirm how worthless he was to the world now. He didn't dare say anything for fear of setting the man off again.

"This Friday, after you get your new leg,..." Mr. Miller looked at his oldest son, or whatever he was now, letting his gaze burn through the boy, or `it', he corrected himself internally, "...we're gon'a go finish one of the houses....You've cost me enough time away from work." He let his eyes slide away from his oldest's face to return to his open newspaper.

"I'll take you with me as long as you promise to stay out of my way." Mr. Miller pushed down the new wave of disgust that threatened to overwhelm him. The boy' had looked at him like his own father's beaten dog returning to lap at his hand. The fucking pansy,' he sneered to himself, `about time the little shit learned just how much of a waste he was.' He sighed again and let his brain imagine it was his little girl alive across from him and not the sorry excuse for an oldest son he was left with.

At least his youngest was safely with his grandparents that week, so he couldn't be tainted by his `brother's' presence. He couldn't prove anything but when he came home from the bars at night, he was sure his oldest had been lusting after his brother. It's what fags did. He should have just thrown the boy out a long time ago but he was still blood and, no matter how much he wished it was otherwise, he couldn't deny it.

"Yes, sir. I promise." Marty blinked away his shock at his dad's offer and grasped at the hope contained in those words. His dad was willing to take him out to a job site like he had in the past, maybe even let him help like he had. He felt his heart thump loudly in his ears, the pain from his bruises momentarily forgotten. This was his chance - so long in coming - to be of some value to his dad again, to be accepted again!

Marty limped quickly out of the house, crutches in one hand and books in the other, and feeling lighter than he had since the accident. He felt his face beaming into the early morning sun that streamed through the trees to illuminate his redheaded friend's face where he sat in the car, waiting. His life was suddenly as bright as the morning itself. He couldn't wait for that Friday. His dad wanted him again and his new friend waited for him!

He blushed slightly as he reached to pull the door open and take his place in the car. Flip was definitely a friend now, more than a friend, and he had no idea how it had happened. They were so different, yet had grudgingly at first managed to put up with each other's moods and attitudes toward the other. By all rights they should have just tried to beat the shit out of each other and been done with it. Marty suppressed his urge to chuckle. If they'd ever fought each other, Marty figured he'd last about five seconds, looking at his friend's defined muscles ripple and move under his light shirt he wore this cool morning.

"What are you grinning at?" Philip felt himself squirm a little as Marty finally settled himself into the seat. "Seatbelt?"

"You." Marty's answer was rewarded by a reddening of Flip's face again, darkening the pinker dots that trailed over his nose to heavily dust his checks. Marty did chuckle then as he guiltily reached for the belts. "You look like a backwards raccoon when you do that!"

"What?" Philip shook his head to try to dispel the burning in his face. It wasn't as if he hadn't heard that tease before. He frowned slightly as they pulled out onto the twisting road to school. He had too much to think about after that morning and, on top of it all, didn't know if it would be a good idea for his friend to keep riding with him after today. It was bad enough Jamie was going to blab about him all over the school today, but Marty was still new there and couldn't afford to get a bad reputation if he hoped to make other friends.

"Never mind." Marty's smile faded as he regarded the distressed, almost angry, expression he saw cross the redhead's features. "I didn't mean to piss you off."

"You didn't piss me off." Philip tried a smile he wasn't really feeling. "I've just got a lot to think about. It's not you...I'm sorry."

"I know that!" Marty flinched away as his mouth seemed to respond before his brain was in gear. He was expecting a sudden flash of a punch to his arm like his old friends had given him when his mouth had taken over from good sense. He surprisingly found it disappointing when the strike never came. Whatever was bothering Flip was serious. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!...Everything!...Ah...Fuck it!" Philip felt his mind fog out briefly. What was wrong? Hell! A better question would be, `what's right?', it would be a faster answer. He couldn't even remember if he'd said anything. "God, where was I?"

"Last I checked, the Houston area." Marty mockingly winced again but smiled at the shove he received and the muttered `smartass!' from Flip.

"Sorry. Go ahead, I'm all ears." Marty grinned evilly and wiggled the offending articles. The genuine smile he elicited from Flip in return was all he'd unconsciously been working for. Even if his sense of humor had almost failed him once, it hadn't failed his friends, or friend now, he sighed, completely yet.

"Yes, you are." Philip shot back. Somehow, he suddenly felt at ease and wanting to talk. His black haired friend had drained the tension out of him. Marty's ears weren't that big but did stick out a bit, so he gleefully went with the self-deprecating joke. "I don't know how you stay on the ground in a high wind!....OK, you asked for it!...here's what's going on...."

Marty sat quietly, running his fork through the remains of whatever it was he'd just eaten for lunch, briefly wondering why he'd stayed with Philip that morning before class. Philip had tried to warn him off numerous times but he'd stayed anyway, telling himself that he wouldn't abandon his only true friend like his old friends and team mates had seemingly abandoned him.

He quickly shrugged off the disturbing thoughts that continued running through his mind as he glanced around the empty table where he sat. He was new here and resigned himself to being alone. The friends he'd just started to make had dropped away one after the other that morning, until now he was the lone figure at the table for lunch.

He glanced around the room again and sighed. He felt himself wishing that he and Philip shared the same lunch period again, if for no other reason than to have seen the confrontation everybody had been talking about. Based on what he'd been able to hear while standing in the lunch line, Flip had been cornered once by a bunch of the other jocks, only to have the ring leader get whacked across his back by a crutch wielded by some guy named Jeff. Marty had almost laughed out loud at that. Philip sure seemed to attract the loyalty of one-winged wonders like himself!

Of course the charge led to Philip's defense by a bunch of his fellow cheerleaders, most of whom were the girlfriends of the attackers; that would have been great to watch as well. Marty had learned that Philip had a reputation for being quick to defend himself with his fists, but ten to one odds were a bit much to expect even for someone as strong as Flip was.

Marty could only be thankful that he'd been left alone so far. Philip wasn't there and he knew he'd be on his own if trouble started again.

"Hey, kid?" Marty unconsciously ducked at the voice directed his way, staring at his empty tray. He set his jaw tightly at the unwelcome intrusion. God knew he sure couldn't run anymore, so he would just have to stand his ground if worse came to worse. "Hey, crip! I'm talking to you."

"My name is Gabriel." Marty shocked himself by using his hated first name, but then why give these kids the name he liked. He turned slowly, his deep black eyes seemed to flash their challenge to the group that stood behind him. He forced his body not to shake from the sudden infusion of adrenaline that coursed through him as he gazed at the mixed group dressed in their blue denim FFA (Future Farmers of America) jackets. He'd been in maybe three fights his entire life and didn't know if he'd be able to hit the table if he swung at it, but physically, if not mentally, his running days were over. God, but these guys were huge!

"We wan'a ask you something. Can you come outside for a sec?" The large boy who'd spoken first gazed back expectantly while another whispered into his ear. "I thought your name was Marty?"

"That's what my friends call me," Marty heard his challenge ring through his statement as he watched the renewed frown directed his way from the others, "and yes, I can go outside. I've been walking for years now. Need lessons? ...You can ask me anything right here."

"Fine!" the leader spat, obviously not liking the smartass they had targeted. "So tell us, are you that good a fuck? I mean, you just show up and now Flip is queer?"

"Why?" Marty shrugged aimlessly at these fools. So now he was responsible for Philip too in these guys' eyes? The idea struck his sense of the absurd. "You jealous? ...Want lessons?"

"Fuck you, smartass!" The ringleader's face clouded further as he regarded the skinny kid picking up his books and crutches. "You'd better watch your ass.... Your boyfriend isn't here to protect you."

"I'd rather be a smartass..." Marty couldn't help but smile when he rose to face the group. He'd been thinking of Philip as a friend but `boyfriend' had a much better sound to it. He only wished it was true, turning to leave the cafeteria, "...than a dumbshit!"

"Fuck you!" Marty heard the anger in the voice and instantly regretted thinking the huge guy behind him wouldn't do anything in front of the other students and teachers present, when he felt the shove between his tender shoulder blades, sending him painfully into the edge of the table to land amongst the remains on his tray.

"Not even after dinner and a movie!" Marty squeezed out between his clenched jaw after a second shove knocked him onto the linoleum tiles.

"Fuck! What happened to you?" Marty heard the sudden change in his assailant's voice and felt the cold tiles against his thin, bare abdomen where his shirt had ridden up.

"Nothing!" Marty felt his face burning brightly. The only thing he could think of worse than the sudden manhandling he'd received at the hands of the scattering group of idiots, would be receiving their pity. He quickly pulled his shirt back down, the thoughts of his well placed kick with his good leg to fend off another blow just as quickly forgotten. "Get the fuck away from me!" he hissed.

"Marty? ...Are you all right?" The short heavyset woman looked between the two from the point where her pudgy legs had hustled her to. She had her suspicions about what had happened in the middle of the group of kids but wasn't able to see it herself. "Buck, what's going on?"

"Nothing," Marty interjected quickly while he finished rearranging his shirt before pulling himself back up to his feet, thankful that the fake one hadn't shifted too badly. At least that problem would go away when he got his new custom fitted `final' prosthetic. "I just fell, is all."

"Mrs. Twitchell, he's...." The boy Marty now knew as Buck glanced again at the black haired boy's, now covered, back. He knew the kid had been involved in some accident that had cost him his leg but shouldn't his other bruises have healed by now? `Fuck', he looked like the accident had been yesterday or someone had beaten the shit out of him. Anyway, he'd come over just to ask some questions and this Marty kid had been a real asshole about it, so if he wanted to hide his wounds? Let him! Besides, what if the teachers thought he was responsible for beating the kid? "...He just fell trying to get up. I didn't touch him."

"Is that really what happened, Marty?" Mrs. Twitchell locked him with her gaze, making the youth begin to fidget. She knew what the answer would be. She spent most of her time around her `kids'. That was why she'd become the faculty sponsor of the school's cheerleading and pep squads. Marty was in one of her History classes and Buck, though not the best at communicating what he wanted to know clearly - he sometimes relied on others to help him phrase his questions - and easily frustrated, was a good hearted boy down deep.

"Yes, ma'am," Marty responded quietly now that his sudden rush of anger, then panic, had faded as quickly as it had come.

"OK, then, why don't you two run along then." Mrs. Twitchell smiled in a conspiratorial way at her' boys. "Oh, and watch the language in the future." She let her crooked smile linger as the two walked and limped away toward the main hall that bisected the school building. She quietly chalked the incident up to late spring fever. It was her' boys' rutting season.

"I'm sorry for how I asked that question....sometimes things just come out wrong." Buck spoke in a hoarse whisper as he slowed to stay alongside Marty's limping form. "Who beat you like that?"

"Nobody beat me." Marty turned quickly when the two reached the hallway. He almost wished the big oaf was still pounding him. That would have been easier to take than what he was receiving from the large boy now. "Look, Just leave me alone. It's my business...I don't need you butting in."

"OK." Buck slowed further to watch the retreating back of the youth he'd have gladly pounded into the ground just a scant few moments before. His own closely held secret was that, although he was slow and awkward in his speech, he was not stupid. In fact he pulled down a high `A' average. His parents had even jokingly asked him if he was going to be the first doctor in their family, to which he'd replied seriously that he wanted to be a large animal Veterinarian. He wouldn't have to try to talk to his patients then. He silently cursed his lack of social skills again. "Sorry, Marty...."

Philip glanced up at the now familiar 'station six' sign above the treatment area he didn't want but had found himself in for the third time that Friday afternoon. M. D. Anderson cancer center was made up of at least four or five, he'd lost count, connected buildings and he was looking for the `purple' section. He knew he shouldn't have left his map at home that day but he'd been there once before and figured he could easily find his way back to his mom's room on the sixth floor. How hard could it be in a color coded hospital? He blushed with the frustrating realization that he was wrong, staring again at the orange walls, and would have to ask for directions now that he was completely lost within the complex.

"Can I help you?" Philip looked back at the tall attendant behind the appointment desk. The man's graying hair framed his laughing eyes and slight smirk. "I figure you're lost. Not many people visit my section three times a day."

"Uh...yeah..." Philip shifted uncomfortably under the man's kindly but bemused gaze. "I'm trying to get to room six twenty one purple?"

"Oh,...OK, that's six twenty one Lutheran Tower. Go back toward...." Philip listened intently and wondered how these people who worked in this place ever kept things straight. They sure couldn't just say `room six twenty one'. There were at least four of them!

"Thank you..." Philip smiled back over his shoulder and quickly retraced his steps until he found the main entrance again and then followed the man's directions to the purple colored elevators. He sighed in relief that he was alone for this visit. Marty had come with him on the first visit and he thought he'd never live his faulty sense of direction down with the black-haired boy's continuing `commentary' as he followed the map.

He hoped his mom would be done with her last round of tests for the day and that she'd be able to tell him why the doctors had postponed her surgery. The lack of news was driving him crazy but all he could do was trust his mom's decisions about her own body. She'd warned him not to expect good news but still couldn't understand what was taking so long for them to get started on their treatments. No matter what she said, he knew she would fight the cancer. She was a fighter like him.

Philip breathed out in relief as he stepped out of the elevator. All he had to do now was read the signs directing him through the, now familiar, hall to his mom's room.

"Philip?" he found himself intercepted as he tried to cross by the nurses' station. He barely recognized the lady oncologist on his mom's treatment team. "Your mother has a visitor. Could you follow me for a minute?"

"I guess." Philip let his gaze linger down the hall where his mom lay. His heart pounded with the unexpected interruption in his visit. He thought he saw some man sitting just inside the door of her room and tried to suppress the anger that threatened to emerge in response to the vaguely familiar figure. "What's going on?"

"Don't worry," the doctor quietly led him into one of the conference rooms off the hall. "Your mom wanted me to talk to you about early cancer detection, especially with all those freckles and your testicles. Now that you've got a family history of cancer, she wants to make sure you'll be careful. So I promised to talk to you as soon as I could."

"Uh...whatever." Philip's face burned brighter than he ever remembered. His mom had talked to him before about checking his skin and freckles for changes but what did his balls have to do with anything and why did it have to be now?

"Good. Now take a seat." She indicated a chair across from hers and opened a box, revealing what looked like a rubber, but lifelike, scrotum and numerous pieces of literature. "The sooner we do this, the happier your mom will be."

"You fuckin' worthless piece of shit!" Marty curled tighter from the pain as another hard kick, from his father, lifted his body off the ground where he'd found himself. The day had started great for him as he'd gotten his new leg, and wondered at the lack of pain from his stump. His prosthetist had explained everything about it and the `sport' foot incorporated into it. He'd been amazed at the spring it restored to his step and how his limp had seemed to go away almost as soon as he'd slipped himself into the socket that had been molded just for him.

His dad had seemed pleased with his son's new step and the confidence it seemed to give Marty, though the man who'd created the boy's new leg had warned him to take it easy until he got used to not having a working ankle. He still couched his warning in an up-beat assessment that there was really nothing that Marty couldn't do with enough practice and patience.

Marty had wasted little time when they arrived at his dad's work site and he fell into his usual `gofer' job, helping his dad and the others working around the new house they were building. He was flying high at being able to help again, and the reception he'd gotten from the other contractors and workers was great as well. He felt he was somehow back where he belonged, where he felt the closest to his father. More than one of the guys on the job site had grinned at him and tried to tousle his hair in welcome. They weren't too successful in the latter effort however, due to his recent trip to the barber that left him with his black hair buzzed close.

That he'd been able to successfully negotiate the area without incident was irksome to his dad, he'd chalked up to his forgetting the `take it easy' part of the prosthetist's warning. He'd been having too much fun showing off for his dad and the others on the site.

All the pleasure his efforts brought had evaporated immediately when he'd tried to help his dad replace a ladder on his truck. The treacherous footing that he'd negotiated all afternoon had finally won the battle when he'd stepped into what would have been a minor depression in the past.

Marty found himself completely unbalanced as he and the ladder collapsed to the ground in a heap. He looked in horror at the long scratch in the truck's door and the busted mirror pieces lying next to him. He never saw the first blow to his unprotected chest and yelped as the sharp blow robbed him of the ability to utter any more than a whimper in response to the second hard kick as he tried to protectively curl in on himself!

"Fuckin' queer!" Marty's dad screamed, readying another kick to his son's exposed back. "You should be the one dead!"

"Travis! Stop it!" Marty barely heard the outraged voice he didn't recognize at first as he tried to breathe. "What the hell is wrong with you? He's your son!"

"Fuck you too, Jimmy!" Mr. Miller snarled at the intervention to his `discipline' of the sorry excuse for a son he was left with. "That fuckin' fag killed my little girl!"

"That was an accident!" Jimmy snarled back. He'd had no idea that his co-worker and drinking buddy was capable of such hatred for the boy. He also didn't care that the boy may or may not be gay. He'd been the member of the family who'd held his brother's hand as he breathed his last, the AIDS infection finally winning. "He's your son! You want to beat someone up? ...Try someone your own size! Com'on, fucker, try me!"

"Gabriel!" Mr. Miller backed away toward the driver's side of his pick-up, the ladder forgotten in the face of the new and serious threat. Jimmy was younger and bigger than anyone else he'd ever palled around with over the years and he'd seen the man win his share of bar fights. "Get in the truck!"

"Travis, don't you go anywhere! I'm gon'a call the cops!" Jimmy looked on in horrified wonder as Marty struggled upright and crawled into the truck. What the hell was the kid doing? "You touch the kid again and you'll answer to me! You'll be wishing the cops got there first!"

"Dad?" Marty held his chest tightly, it hurt to breathe, as they screeched out onto the street and left the outraged group of workers behind them. God! He fought to hold in his tears, telling himself it was the pain in his chest. The cops would come for his dad now and it was all his fault! Not only would his little brother not have a mother any more because of him, but he could lose his father too! It was too late now. He couldn't make it better like he'd tried so hard to do since the train hit the car he'd been driving. It was all his fault! Why didn't he die too? He should have died. "I'm sorry."

"Shut up!" Mr. Miller spat back, never taking his eyes from the front of the truck. His world had collapsed around him. Jimmy and the others would make his family their business now, some place they had no right to be! He pulled the truck back into their lane as he negotiated another turn toward home. "You've done enough, you little shit!"

"Yes, sir." Marty gasped through his teeth and glanced up at the freeway intersection they were approaching. That would be the I-10 overpass, he thought idly as they slowed to a stop for the red light glaring back at them. It really didn't matter what road they were at, any would do. "I'll leave."

"Fine!" Marty's father finally turned to glare at his sorry excuse for a son. The fucker had caused him enough trouble and cost him enough money already. "Go!"

Grabbing his small bag of stump socks and moisturizer he'd been given to go along with his new leg, Marty quickly popped the door and slipped out of his dad's truck and stepped away to the shoulder of the road before his father could intervene. He watched over his shoulder at the truck accelerating away into the gathering darkness and slowly stumbled across the road toward the overpass, ignoring the few other cars that flew past him. At least he wouldn't be any more trouble to his remaining family.

He squeezed his chest tighter, trying to ease the sharp pain that still seemed to restrict his breathing more and more with each step. His brain, which had been in a fog, began working frantically. Why couldn't he breathe? He stumbled against one of the concrete supports briefly before his legs gave out and he slowly collapsed to lie on the rough island of the interstate. He felt like he was drowning and coughed, bringing up blood that splattered the ground under him. He felt strangely at peace even as he fought for his next breath. It was over now and he welcomed it. If only it didn't hurt so much!

"Hey, Flip, you had a chance to eat supper yet?" Bill glanced over at the boy as he guided the Ford F-450 Booster truck quickly on his weekly errand, bringing the station's reports to the main station offices. As much as driving the huge engine was work, the little truck they used to fight grass and woods fires with was sheer fun as its power stroke' diesel more than compensated for the weight of the pump and three hundred gallons of water they carried. It was one of the few trucks in the fleet with a name. Mighty Mouse' was emblazoned in front of either door. He was also glad of Flip's company that night and figured Philip was equally happy to not be home in his empty house.

"No," Philip responded, looking out at the darkness along the side of the road. His mom had appeared uncomfortable when he'd asked point-blank if it had been his dad he'd seen visiting her when he'd been led off to become completely embarrassed as he was lectured on the procedure to use to examine his balls in detail. He'd dropped the subject when he'd seen her reaction to the question and instead felt himself blush again as she'd asked him if he'd talked to the doctor yet. She'd just laughed and said that his face had just given her all the answer she needed.

When the conversation had eventually been brought back around to his father on her terms, he'd forced himself to stay in the room and not run out like he first wanted to. He really couldn't remember anything she'd tried to tell him and she'd merely sighed and stopped talking after it became obvious he wasn't listening or responding to her questions any more. He'd finally been shooed out of the room by the nurses who were there to get his mom prepared for her surgery in the morning. He was relieved that whatever the delay had been was apparently over, and just hugged her tightly for what he wanted to be forever, but was all too soon over.

He sighed in relief and stretched his legs in the confines of Booster Ninety Four, feeling his hard muscles tighten and relax in that odd pleasure/pain combination. At least he didn't have to face an empty house tonight. He wished Bill would let him just stay at the station all the time but his captain hadn't relaxed the rule that prohibited the school-aged members from being there on school nights.

That they were also forbidden from responding after three A.M. on weekdays was also an irksome development, but someone had figured that a fire call would take four hours to finish and still get the school-aged kids home by seven so they could reach school by the 7:45 bell....

"OK," Bill drawled quietly, glancing from the road to his silent passenger, "after we drop off the paperwork, we'll stop at The Hop. They've got a great chili cheese burger there."

"That'd be great." Philip felt his spirits lift a little as his stomach rumbled audibly from the promise of the great sounding but completely decadent food. "Thanks."

"No problem," Bill smiled back, glad to get the boy out of his current funk he seemed to have fallen into. "What's a little grease among friends? ...I can hear my arteries hardening already!"

"Department nine, engine ninety one, station ninety one first responders, assist medic sixty two with the man down. F.M. three sixty two at Interstate 10!"

"Shit!" Bill chuckled to soften his reaction and quickly reached over to activate the emergency lights and quickly turned left onto the F.M. road. "I should have known better then even mention food! We're closest!" He reached for the mic and paused a second. "Booster ninety four will be responding to the man down, from Clay road and F.M. three sixty two. Two on board."

Philip's eyes widened slightly as the turbo diesel accelerated the small fire truck and it seemed to float rapidly down the road, siren alternating between its usual wail and the hi-lo sounds as they flashed by the light traffic that thankfully had pulled over obediently.

"Flip!" Bill barked, suddenly the professional again as they pulled up behind the DPS black and white parked next to an all white county sheriff's vehicle. "Get the O2 and the medic bag. They're on your side, and some gloves. I've got mine!"

"Yes, sir!" Philip quickly jumped from the cab and circled back to open the small compartment that formed part of the rear structure of The Mouse. Grabbing a pair of latex gloves, he snatched the two orange nylon bags and started over to where the group of officers was standing around the Stetson-covered head of the State Trooper kneeling by the prostrate form, slowly stroking its shuddering back and whispering something.

"Marty!" Philip stopped suddenly in mid stride when a flashlight beam swept across the victim's face. "Fuck! No! Marty?"

"Flip, you know the boy?" Bill spoke in a calm, even voice. This wouldn't be the first time that a firefighter responded to a scene involving a friend or relative in this small community and it had to be handled carefully. He saw the nod of assent from his young crewman as he took the bags. "OK, I don't know if I'll need your help until we get more guys here, but if you can't do it, just go sit in the truck. No one will say anything. The cops can help me for now."

"No. I can help." Philip wouldn't have thought it possible to talk while simultaneously inhaling until that brief moment but it felt like that's what he just did. He dimly heard the approaching sirens of the ambulance and engine behind him. "What can I do?"

"Get him on the O2." Bill turned back toward the prone body of Flip's friend, the Trooper stayed where he was to help and to ask Marty again, what happened?' "Hold C' spine while I check his back, then we'll turn him."

"Oh, God." Philip gently placed an oxygen mask over Marty's nose and mouth according to Bill's instructions and held his friend's head still while Bill used his `trauma' shears to cut Marty's shirt away from his skinny muscular frame. He quickly averted his eyes back to his friend's face, the heavy discolorations bringing raw bile to his throat! Marty's chest looked worse than it had after the train wreck that had damaged his friend's leg beyond repair. "Marty?"

"Sweet Jesus!" The Trooper glanced around at the other local officers as he traced the lines of the old and new wounds. "He sure wasn't hit by a car. Somebody's been beating the shit out'a this kid for a while now."

He leaned closer to the downed youth's bloody face. There wasn't any obvious damage to be seen, so the blood must have come from inside. That wasn't a good sign. "Gabriel, who's been beating you?"

"He prefers `Marty'," Philip answered quickly and avoided the hard gaze he got from the Trooper for interrupting, but couldn't avoid the wet streaks that coursed down his cheeks. "Sorry, he's my friend."

"Well, do you have any idea who's been doing this to your friend?" the Trooper breathed out in frustration. What had started out as a possible hit-and-run accident had just ballooned out into something completely different and possibly much worse. The kid didn't have any road rash to indicate he'd been beaten and forced out of a moving car, so he must have escaped or been allowed to leave by whomever or whatever group had done this to him.

"No," Philip managed to respond through his teeth. He had an idea but didn't know if these guys would believe him. He fought back the building rage within his soul but could feel it burning brightly in the background. "When he's not at school, he's at home as far as I know."

"...Noooo..." Marty gasped from his one working lung, spraying a slight red mist across the concrete, "...my da..."

"Ok, Marty, who did it?" the Trooper asked, returning to his calm even voice.

"How many times do I have to tell you guys?" Philip tried to ignore the new voice while he helped ease Marty onto his back to finally look down into the black eyes filled with so much empty pain at the moment. He knew what the voice was going to say before it was said and felt a shiver course up his back across his own invisible scars. "His dad did it. I saw him do it! We tried to stop it."

"Marty?" Philip whispered, his own tears falling into Marty's hair while the `C' collar was fitted around his friend's neck. "Stay with us...me!"

"I...look...l..like...g...going?" Marty wheezed through the oxygen mask. Everything was a swirl around him as he blearily focused on the eyes above him, framed by the flame of eyebrows below and mask of freckles above. He blinked again, wasn't that upside down? Why was Flip upside down? He tried to smile as another sharp wrack of pain coursed through his chest with each breath. At least they had stopped rolling and securing him to the backboard. He never remembered all this from the train accident, he'd been unconscious.

He blinked some wetness out of his own eyes. Philip was there, hovering within his sight, too ugly to be an angel but the most beautiful boy Marty had seen and through the fog and haze, those red-hair framed eyes burned clearly. "I...I...L...Love you."

"Oh, Marty," Philip whispered through the organized chaos as they prepared to lift the secured youth to the stretcher. The whole world quickly evaporated, leaving just the two alone. Philip had almost given in to his panic at Marty's last utterance. It had sounded too much like `goodbye' to him and that he couldn't face on top of everything else. He leaned forward and quickly kissed the warmth and grit that was Marty's forehead. "I love you too."

"OK, let's get him into the unit." The voice behind Philip pulled him back into the raucousness of the team's lifesaving efforts. "We need to decompress his chest ASAP!"

Philip quietly stepped out of the way of the tall graying black man who walked alongside the stretcher and jumped into the back of the ambulance to wait for his patient to follow. The man, in his slacks and sport shirt, looked completely out of place in the back of the ambulance, directing the medics. He glanced once toward the redheaded, red eyed firefighter and smiled. "Don't worry, Flip, we'll take good care of your friend."

"OK, help get my chest tube tray ready." The man turned quickly back to his crew and patient as the doors were shut behind them. "I don't like the monitor reading...."

Philip turned back toward Bill with a thousand unanswerable questions. What was Doctor Lewis doing there? He'd met the man a few times when Doctor Lewis picked Lashonda up from their cheerleader practices. He glanced over to see the black Town Car idling silently, its out of place light bar flashing like all the others in the line of emergency vehicles.

"That's Doc Lewis, the Medical Director," Bill answered the confused look on Philip's face. "He likes to cruise around the county on weekends and help out his medics in the field. He says he's just checking them out but I think he loves being out here as much as the guys. That boy is in great hands."

"What did he mean by decompress Marty's chest?" Philip managed to croak through the hard lump in his throat

"He's gon'a put a tube into the kid's chest to reinflate a collapsed lung." Bill put his arm around Philip's shoulder and pulled him closer. "The longer it takes, the harder Marty's heart has to work and the less oxygen he'll have to work with. It's good that they can do it now."

"But how...?" Philip began, halfheartedly resisting the arm that was quietly pulling him away from the ambulance and where he really wanted to be.

"Between the boy's ribs, through the side of his chest." Bill continued his gentle pressure. Sometimes what it took to save a life could be ugly and he didn't want Philip to experience that through someone he obviously cared for a great deal.

"God, noooo, ahhhhhhhhh!" Philip heard the muted, weak, one lunged scream through the side of the ambulance and felt his knees go wobbly for a second before his rage at Marty's father came roaring back from where it had been held so carefully in check while he'd been busy.

"Flip!" Bill reached out to push his distraught crewman into the `Mouse's' cab. "Let it go. Your friend will be OK! Let the cops take care of his father." He grabbed Philip into a hug. "Don't worry. They've already left to go pick the sonofabitch up. There's nothing for you to do, they'll make sure he'll never hurt your friend again. Let it go!"

"Oh, God!" Philip quietly tightened the embrace with the man who'd accepted him and fought for his presence, the man who wouldn't judge his tears as unmanly or unworthy of a firefighter. He gave in to the silent sobs of rage and grief that wracked his body, while the confines of `Mighty Mouse' calmly sheltered her human occupants that cared for her and who she cared for in turn.

Philip would have been surprised to see the quiet tears that streaked the face of his station captain as well. The older man who hurt for and remembered the face of every young person he'd had to deal with, some still alive, some now dead, but every one as fresh in the man's memory as this latest boy.

Eric Nevins quietly stared at the glowing TV in the dark living room of his ex-wife's house. That his long unseen son hadn't come home yet was beginning to frighten him. He loved the boy and had tried for years now to hope for some kind of reconciliation. He knew that they'd both have to face it now more than ever. Philip had to know that he still had a family should the worst happen and his mother die.

He quietly sighed and, shutting off the television, rose to go out to his car. Maybe his son was at the firestation his mom had talked about with such pride. Eric really didn't understand why his son or anybody would be a firefighter for nothing. There were other things his son could be doing now, things he could get paid for. Well, soon they would be face to face again....

End of pt 9

First I would like to thank everybody's patience in waiting for this chapter. A lot has been happening in my and my friend's lives recently, some terrific and some terrible, but that is what being alive is all about. For those of you who are involved with our troubled youth, I congratulate your commitment and wish you the greatest success.

Remember! We all have something to contribute in some small way, using our individual talents, mine is my words and the inspiration I hope they have provided. (Not to mention the enjoyment.) My greatest wish is for each of us to get involved, each in his own way. All I can promise, though, is a tremendous risk of heartbreak, dealing with the broken lives of many thrown away' gay youths. But within that heartbreak is the chance of a real' life for many of these kids.

I've dedicated this story to my good friend Steve and the risks, getting involved, he's been willing to take in the past and those he will in the future on behalf of the `thrown away' kids of the United States - the country that pays lip service to doing everything for our children and yet seems willing to throw away so many of them because they are unwanted Gays.

I would like to thank Ed for his assistance with this story.

Willy B. (haztech@msn.com)