Andrew and Steven Read online

Andrew and Steven

  Kenneth Wise

  Copyright @ 2013 by Kenneth Wise

  Cover by Katrina Joyner

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.

   

  For

  Sandra and Elizabeth

  They made life worth living

  Andrew and Steven

  PROLOGUE

  “Our two hearts beat as just one. You will never be loved by anyone as much as I love you”, said Andrew, speaking in a voice choked with emotion. His young face lined with tears driven by a heart so full of sadness that he thought, in fact he wished, it might explode and put an end to the pain, the sadness and loneliness that he could not escape on his own. His attempt to do it himself was just another failure. Only during the last seven months, and for the first time in his sixteen years, he had experienced the joy of unconditional love.

  Steven looked up at him. Through the sobs that he was trying to suppress, he said to Andrew,” This is not right; we didn't do anything wrong. I wish I were dead. I don't think I want to live without you; you are the best friend I will ever have. It doesn't make any difference, Andrew. Nothing ever comes out right. What the hell’s the use of living"?

  Andrew, four inches taller than Steven, came to him and as Steven rose from the stoop where he had been sitting, they embraced each other; they held onto each other so tight that it seemed their bones would start cracking. Both were sobbing like three year olds who had just experienced their first scraped knee. They remained there, holding each other, for several long minutes. Then Andrew sat on the stoop and Steven faced him. They searched each other's eyes, looking for answers to questions they would never ask, and finding none. Steven finally broke the silence and asked, “ Do you think we will ever see each other again?” “I doubt it,” said Andrew. “They will make sure our lives take very different paths.

  Steven, always the strong one, had lost his strength. Andrew, always the flippant one, had lost his sense of humor. “Till the day I die I will love you,” said Andrew, “even if we never see each other again”. Steven turned his arm so that the inside was showing and touched the scar left by a recently healed gash. “Our very special bond will last forever Andrew. Every day of our lives we can look at our scars and remember that evening. I will never forget how we laid on the floor and let our blood form a puddle as we slipped away. I will always remember how much I loved you in that moment Andrew. I hope that you, when you think back, will feel the same about me. I will also remember that if it wasn't for the nosy Mrs. Ferguson's intervention, we would have, and should have died in each other’s arms.”

  “It’s time to go now, Brainy Boy”, said Andrew. Indeed, it’s time to go Bird Brain. They started off in different directions, they didn't look back, each going to a home and a life that others had picked for them.

  Steven Cross, seventy-one years old, retired, widower twice, no children, no grandchildren, no step children to remember him, no family. He was just a lonely old man sitting on a hill, overlooking some nameless lake in western Oregon, watching birds diving at the water and fish scurrying away so as not to become bird food. As he relaxed, presenting a portrait of contentment, his mind meandered backwards to a short period of his life, so many years ago, when events and the fates collided to create memories so painful that after all these years, his heart still aches when some sight, or some sound, or even some aroma stirs up emotions that should have been calmed decades ago. The memory of Andrew Chambers, and their short time together has never left him. When his memory starts to fade, as memories do with age, a simple glance at the scar on his left arm reawakens the memory of that cool October evening when he and Andrew had pledged their eternal love, and looked into each other’s loving eyes while their lives drifted away. They laid there together, in a pool of blood that trickled from the ragged gashes they had cut deeply into their left arms. “I wonder if he remembers,” Steven said to the fresh, cool air that surrounded his body like a harbinger of winter that would soon descend upon the area.

  “You OK there fella?” a park ranger who materialized out of thin air asked in a tone that betrayed a country warmness and officer’s wariness.

  “I’m doing fine officer. I am enjoying what I’m sure is one of the last sunny days before the cold sets in. Like a lot of other old guys with nothing else to do, I’m listening to the breeze that is warning us all of the winter that is crossing Canada, headed for our front doors. And of course, getting caught talking to myself, like guys my age always seem to do.”

  As the ranger laughed, his slightly overfed belly sort of rolled in sync with his words. He sounded more like a NASCAR crew member than a lawman, country all the way." He was no doubt thinking that the old guy was right about this being one of the last good days before the cold blew in. Soon the area will be enveloped with snow, whipped into drifts by the wind that never stops until late spring. “Yer right about the weather, partner, but I wouldn’t worry too much about gettin’ caught talking to yourself. Hell, some of the best conversations I’ve ever had were with myself.”

  The ranger wished him well and was on his way, He couldn't help thinking that he just met one more sad, old guy, baring his soul to the wind, hoping for absolution, or giving thanks. Mostly, they wanted absolution. He knew it wouldn’t be long till it was his turn to sit on one of these hills and wonder who the hell he was and how the hell he got here.

  Steven watched the ranger waddle off on one of the trails where he would check on late season campers, who wasted a lot of food, and the animals wanting to get a closer look at the strangers and maybe pick up a tidbit of that wasted food.

  “How did it all start,” Steven asked himself as he retreated back into his cocoon of memories; memories of a world that once was but is no more; back to those few short months when, as a teenager, he had learned the meaning of both deep love and deep loss.