I do not own Newsies or any of the Newsies characters. To the best of my knowledge they are owned by Disney.
I do not own the character Saiorse "Irish" Callan. She is owned by her creator Lady of Tir Na Nog, who has graciously offered the use of "Irish" as a character in this story.
I am making no money from this story. I seriously doubt the sanity of anyone who would pay money to read anything I have written.
Rated M for Slash, Sexual Situations, and Language.
A/N:Beta credit goes to SakiSaki, who worked exceptionally hard on this chapter. Her diligence, guidance and encouragement have made a notable difference in this chapter and in this story as a whole.
Chapter 14 - Made for Each Other
Dutchy leaned back against Specs's chest as the two lounged in the bleachers. Specs's right arm was draped around Dutchy's waist while his left hand rested easily inside his partner's shirt. A feeling of contentment surrounded him as he felt the smooth skin of Dutchy's chest. They were enjoying a quiet moment as they watched their friends interact.
David and Itey were going through Itey's vast collection of CDs. Their laughter could be heard through the slow and easy music that filled the gym.
Spot, Mush, and Jack were talking quietly at the other end of the bleachers.
Tony and Chris were standing slightly away from David and Itey. Tony had his arms around Chris from behind as they talked, smiled, and swayed to the music. They were an active part of their surroundings, yet at the same time they were in a world all their own.
"Look at Race and Blink," Dutchy remarked. "Watch their movements and expressions. I don't think that I've ever seen two people who look more in love."
"They seem like a couple of kids on their honeymoon, don't they?" Specs smiled. "You would never know that they've been together since they were seventeen. They look like they're making love, even when they aren't."
"It's more than that," Dutchy said. "I think that they are making love even when they aren't. Everything they do or say affects the other. They really don't need anyone or anything else. They could lose their jobs, their money, and whatever they own, and still be incredibly happy. Those two were destined to find each other. I've never seen two people so much in love."
"Well, what about us? Don't you think that we're at least that much in love?" Specs asked. "Or maybe you think that we're one of those comfortable couples who look more like members of the same family rather than lovers?"
"We are totally different," Dutchy smiled as he leaned back for a kiss. Specs turned away in a huff, and Dutchy's mouth met with more cheek than lips.
"Don't go getting all bent out of shape, Specs. You're not listening to what I'm saying."
"Go ahead," Specs huffed. "Try and get yourself out of this one!"
Dutchy sat up and slid an arm around his partner. As he did, he gave Specs a little tickle on his ribs.
"I hate when you do that," Specs grumbled.
"No you don't," Dutchy grinned. "You love it. Now shut up and pay attention. You and I have something that none of them is ever going to have."
Specs snorted as he attempted to move away from Dutchy, only to feel his partner's strong arm tighten around him.
"Think about it, Specs. Everyone we know, including Race and Blink have one thing in common. They all had to find each other."
Specs tilted his head and peered over the top of his eyeglasses. "I know that you're trying to make a point here, Dutch, but for the life of me I can't figure out what it is."
"The point is that we are different. You and I never had to find each other because we have always been together. We didn't have to fall in love because we have always been in love. We were born that way. It's like God created us especially for each other. It's like he made our souls as a perfectly matched set. The only thing we had to do was to come down the birth canal. The rest was done for us . . . Do you remember all those photos that my mom gave us last year? We have an entire box of pictures showing us holding hands and kissing when we were running around in diapers. And we'll still be holding hands and kissing when we're very old and in diapers again."
"Well, that creates a strange mental picture," Specs grinned.
"No, that creates a very beautiful mental picture," Dutchy said reassuringly. "You are not just a part of my life, you are a part of me. We are that Specs/Dutchy creature that everyone used to call us."
Specs studied his partner's features. A feeling of warmth and desire washed over him as he looked at Dutchy's broad smile with its slightly crooked teeth. He knew that Dutchy was right. His first memories in life were of them together. An ache filled his chest as he searched the clear blue eyes before him.
"What?" Dutchy asked as he pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.
"Do you have any idea how much I love you?" Specs asked.
"My guess would be that it's nearly as much as I love you," Dutchy grinned. "I don't think that either of us would have been born if the other wasn't. We really were made for each other."
Specs leaned in and pressed his lips gently against Dutchy's. "You're the best part of me," he said as he brushed the blonde hair away from his lover's eyes.
"We're the best part of each other," Dutchy smiled.
Suddenly, Specs's expression changed his and mood grew somber.
"I did lose you for a while," Specs said with his voice sounding strained. "It was like part of me had died . . . The best part."
Specs could see Dutchy from across the ball field. His long lean figure and light blonde hair made him easy to spot.
As he climbed the embankment that lead to the basketball court, Specs saw that there were four young men with Dutchy. Three were strangers and the other was Emilio Callo. He was one of Itey's younger brothers; everyone called him Email.
Before Specs reached the court, he saw Skittery Callo pull into the lot. He emerged from the old convertible carrying the broom handle that he used as a bat when playing stickball. As he walked toward the group, Skittery twirled the stick freely in one hand. The look on his face made it obvious that there was going to be trouble.
Specs quickly sized up the three strangers. From the abundance of gold chains and expensive leather jackets, he knew that the three were not from their part of town.
As Skittery turned his baseball cap backwards, he threw a nodding glance at Specs.
Specs nodded back asking, "Problem, Skitts?"
"Nope . . . Just need to get rid of some trash."
"Okay," Specs replied. The tone of his voice let Skittery know that he was ready to back him up.
As the two approached the group, Specs and Dutchy met eyes for just a moment, and then Dutchy looked down at the ground. He was shuffling his feet from side to side like a guilty child.
"I thought I told you scumbags to stay away from my brother," Skittery said in a loud yet emotionless tone.
One of the three stepped forward. He was obviously the leader of the group. "Gee, Callo," he said. "Me and my friends were just sitting here mindin' our own business when your brother and his friend come over and started talkin' ta us."
"Let me spell it out for you," Skittery spat as he grabbed him by the shirtfront. If I catch you or any of your guys around my brother or Dutchy again I'm gonna bash your skulls in. Is that clear enough for you?"
Dutchy took a tentative step forward. "Now wait a minute, Skitts - -"
Skittery raised the stick and pointed it at Dutchy. "You shut your fuckin' mouth, and keep it shut!"
The largest of the three stepped forward and made a grab for Skittery.
In a movement that was much like a battering ram, Skittery jabbed him in the abdomen with his stick. He fell to the ground gasping for air.
The third stepped forward and Specs interceded. Soon both of the strangers were on the ground and groaning in pain.
"Who do you think you are?" The leader hissed at Skittery.
"Who do I think I am?" Skittery mocked as he waved the stick in the leader's face. "I'm the stickball champion of Pulitzer Academy, 1988, and your worst fuckin' nightmare! And if I hear that you or any of your playmates come near either of them again, your mama is going to be scraping you off the sidewalk with a shovel and a stick!"
The three slithered back to their car and sped out of the lot.
Emilio looked at his brother then started to run. Skittery dropped the stick and was on him in three steps. He grabbed his brother by the back of the collar and slapped him in the head with his free hand, then shoved him down onto a picnic bench.
"I warned you about this, Emilio," Skittery hissed.
"I told you not to call me that," Emilio protested. "My name is Email!"
"I'll remind Mama and Papa about that when they're ordering your headstone," Skittery snapped as he gave his brother another slap in the head.
"Will somebody tell me what's going on here!" Specs shouted.
"Don't you know?" Skittery asked looking totally surprised. "Your boyfriend and my little brother were buying their drugs from those three bastards."
Specs was dumbfounded as he glared at Dutchy.
"It was only a little weed," Dutchy said as he stared at the ground.
"Weed my ass!" Skittery bellowed. "You don't get a nosebleed like that from smoking weed."
Dutchy reached up and touched his nose then looked at the blood on his fingers.
Specs pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and held it under Dutchy's nose. Dutchy pushed him away, but Specs shoved back even harder and placed the cloth back on his boyfriend's face.
"You want to tell me what this is all about?" Specs asked. When Dutchy didn't answer, he turned to Skittery for an explanation.
."Sorry, Specs. I thought you knew. I figured that you were here for the same reason I was: to catch Cheech and Chong here red handed and to kick the crap out of Pete and his buddies."
"No, I didn't know," Specs said as he glared at Dutchy. "You can imagine my surprise when I went over to your house and your mom told me that you and I were supposed to be studying together at the library. It seems that I needed your help preparing for some nonexistent history exam. I've spent the last two hours looking for you. So how long has this been going on?"
Still Dutchy gave no reply.
"I don't know," Skittery offered. "I can tell you that this isn't the first time they bought drugs from Pete."
"Why don't you mind your own fuckin' business!" Email spat.
"Not another word out of you, ya little shit!" Skittery shouted. "I warned both of them about this the last time I caught them. So today when I saw Dutchy coming out of the pawn shop, I figured that something was up. I followed them here and waited outside the lot until I saw Pete and his goons show up."
Skittery held onto Email while he searched his pockets. It wasn't long before he pulled out a small plastic bag of white powder.
Skittery leaned over Email and whispered, "You move one muscle and there will be one less kid at our dinner table tonight."
"Coke, Dutchy? You've been using cocaine?"
"I told you I was buying weed," Dutchy replied indignantly.
Specs studied Dutchy's guilty face.
"Well, where is it?" Specs asked. "Let me see what you bought."
"I didn't get a chance to buy anything. You two assholes chased them away."
Dutchy's words stung Specs ears. Asshole? Dutchy had never called him anything like that before.
"Okay then. If we chased them away before you had a chance to buy anything then show me your money."
"What?"
"Show me the money that you were going to use to buy the weed. If you didn't have a chance to buy anything then you should still have the money on you."
"So now you don't trust me?" Dutchy asked. "That really hurts."
"If I'm wrong, then I'll be happy to apologize. Now let me see the money."
"Fuck off!" Dutchy hissed.
Specs reached into his boyfriend's shirt pocket in search of the drugs.
Dutchy swung his fist which connected squarely with Specs's nose. The pocket ripped open as Specs fell against the picnic table. Dutchy froze momentarily as three pawnshop tickets fell from his pocket and floated to the ground.
When Dutchy bent over to pick them up, Skittery moved in and grabbed him around the middle, pinning his arms to his sides.
Specs regained his footing and reached into Dutchy's jeans pocket. He immediately found what he was looking for. It was a bag of white powder the same as Skittery had found on Email.
"Damn it, Dutchy! How could you be so stupid? . . . Drugs? . . . What do you need this crap for?"
"It's always so easy for you, isn't it, Specs? No matter what happens you pick yourself up and go on. How am I supposed to compete with that? Well, I can't be like you! And I hate the way you look at me! You remind me every day of what a pathetic loser I am! I can't stand the sight of you anymore!"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Specs asked as he reached for Dutchy's arm.
For the second time in one day Dutchy hit Specs. This time the punch landed him on the ground and sent his glasses flying.
The shock stung more than the punch. They'd been together all their lives and had never fought. Of course they had argued. They'd even spent three days giving each other the silent treatment. Still, in all their years together they'd never really fought. And the thought of actually hitting each other was unthinkable.
Specs stood up and returned the punch. He was blind with rage. He felt as though he was fighting for his life. More accurately, he felt as though he was fighting for Dutchy's life. But this wasn't his Dutchy. This was some creature that was holding Dutchy captive.
Finally, Skittery managed to get them apart.
"I hate you!" Dutchy bellowed. "I hate the fucking sight of you! Just stay the hell away from me! I don't ever want to see you again!"
With that, Dutchy ran down the embankment and disappeared into the woods.
Dutchy's words hurt more than any of the physical blows Specs had just received.
Skittery told Email to go and wait for him in the car.
Email replied with his usual, "Fuck you!"
Skittery grabbed his brother by the front of his shirt and pulled him to his face. "Don't forget that there are twelve kids in our family. If I have to kill you, nobody is ever gonna notice that you're missing!"
Email went quietly and sat in the car.
Skittery picked up Specs's glasses. "They're bent, but they don't look too bad," he said. Then examining Specs's face he added, "That's more than I can say for you."
"What the fuck was that all about?" Specs hissed.
"It's the drugs," Skittery replied with more than a hint of disgust. "Email used to be the nicest kid. He was even sweeter than Itey. Now he's a little prick, and my parents don't know how to handle him. I keep tellin' them that if they don't do something soon then he is gonna end up dead. It kills me that I have to be so hard on my kid brother, but being nice doesn't help. Nobody wants to do it, but I think my parents are gonna have to send him away to get clean."
"I don't fucking believe this," Specs mumbled as he removed his torn shirt to wipe the blood and sweat from his face.
"I'm sorry, Specs. I really thought that you knew. This has been going on for a while now."
"I knew that he hasn't been himself lately. He's been drinkin', and I've seen him smoking pot, but I never suspected . . ."
"I think I'd better get you home," Skittery suggested. "It looks like that nose of yours may be broken." Then picking up the pawn tickets he said, "I think you'd better hold onto these."
-o-o-o-
Specs nose wasn't broken, but it was not a pretty sight. It was swollen, and bruised, and both of his eyes were turning black. He was lying on his bed shuffling the pawn tickets when Skittery came to check on him.
"What are you gonna do with those?" Skittery asked.
"I'd like to find out what these claim tickets are for. I think I know what this one is. Dutchy's guitar disappeared right around the date on the ticket. He said that it was in the shop being fixed but that was weeks ago. Every time I ask him about it he comes up with another lame excuse for why it isn't ready."
"Well, they're gonna know that the tickets don't belong to you if you if you have to ask what they're for. And they won't just tell you what he pawned. The only way to find out is to come up with the cash and claim them yourself. I have a feeling that you're gonna need a lot of cash too."
Specs got up and went over to his dresser. He reached into the back of the top drawer and pulled out a roll of bills wrapped with a rubber band.
"Do you think this will be enough?" Specs asked as he tossed the roll to Skittery
"What did you do, rob a bank or something?"
"No, I've been saving to buy a car. That old one that my parents got me is on its way out. I was hoping to save enough for a replacement before it gave out on me."
-o-o-o-
The pawn shop was a seedy little place. It smelled like mildew, and cigar smoke, and a few things that Specs was happy he couldn't recognize. The man behind the counter fit right in. He looked - and smelled - like he hadn't bathed in a week. Specs assumed that the wife beater shirt he was wearing had originally been white, but he couldn't be sure. The abundance of food splatters and overall grayness hid its original form.
"What the hell happened to you?" the man remarked when he looked at Specs's bruised face. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that no means no?"
Specs could feel his skin crawl as he saw the man's eyes move slowly down his body.
"Cut the crap!" Skittery said as he took the tickets from Specs and flung them on the counter. "We're here to claim this stuff."
The clerk matched the tickets with his ledger and looked at the two boys. "These aren't your tickets," he said. "These belong to a pretty blonde boy. I'd never forget a face like his!" The man's grin showed a horrifying collection of brown teeth and gaps where other teeth had once been.
Hearing this disgusting excuse for a human talk about Dutchy made Specs want to retch. For a moment he was drawn back to the night of the dance.
Pretty. . . That is what Oscar kept saying. That Dutchy was pretty. "What do you expect," he said. "This is all your fault. Real men aren't pretty. But you're not a real man, are you? You're just a freak. If you were a real man you would be able to protect your boyfriend over here. But you can't, can you? You're just too pretty and too soft to do anything to help him. Take a look at your boyfriend . . . Do you see that? That's all your fault."
Specs was snapped back to the present by the sound of Skittery's voice.
"Look you smarmy piece of shit!" Skittery hissed as he moved his face closer. "That boy happens to be our brother, and we don't appreciate your talking about him like that!"
The man remained cavalier and smirked back at Skittery. "Don't get me wrong, boys. You two ain't bad lookin' yourselves, but there is no way that blue eyed cutie is related to either one of you. Not with all that wavy dark hair and those big brown eyes."
Specs had finally reached his limit. "How about this you scumbag!" he shouted. "That boy is only seventeen years old and you're not permitted by law to do business with anyone under eighteen. So if you don't give us what we want we'll be back here in five minutes with every cop in town. They'll shut you and this stink-hole of a business down so fast that you won't know what hit you!"
"Alright, alright," he grumbled. "There's no reason to get upset." The man went into the back room and came out with the merchandise. Specs was so shaken at seeing the items, he had to give Skittery the money to pay the man.
As he was counting out the bills Skittery warned the man, "If I find out that you've been doing business with him, or any other kids, I'll make sure the cops put a lock on this place. Do you understand me?"
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say," he replied.
When they went out to the car, Specs slumped into the passenger seat.
"What's wrong?" Skittery asked as he placed Dutchy's guitar in the back seat.
Specs opened the black velvet box and handed it to Skittery. "That's Dutchy's father's pocket watch. It's the only thing he owns that belonged to his dad. His mom saved it for him all these years. She gave it to him on his sixteenth birthday."
Specs removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The weight of the glasses was adding to the pain of his bruised face.
"Ya know, Skitts? Dutchy's mom had to sell just about everything to pay off the bills when her husband died. This was the one thing she refused to sell. His dad said that he wanted Dutchy to have it when he was old enough."
"His habit must be worse than I thought for him to sell this," Skittery said. "What's in the other box?"
Specs handed it over without speaking.
"This ain't so bad," Skittery said when he opened the box. "Lots of guys sell their class rings. I pawned mine twice when I first started college. Books are a lot more expensive than most people think."
"It's not Dutchy's," Specs said softly.
Skittery took the ring out of the box and looked at the inscription. "Damn, Specs. This is your ring."
"Yeah. I gave it to him after the spring dance last year. He hadn't removed it since then. I didn't even notice that he wasn't wearing it today."
"This is probably what he pawned this morning . . . Damn, Specs. I'm sorry."
-o-o-o-
Instead of driving home, Skittery pulled into the parking lot of the diner. He thought Specs looked like he needed to talk.
They sat in the one booth that was always available . . . The one next to the kitchen. It was a toss-up between which was worse: the smell of grease and onions that escaped each time the door opened or the sound of the pots clanging and the kitchen staff shouting at each other.
Irish was happy to see her friends walk in. She wasn't thrilled to be working at the diner, and the sight of two familiar faces was a welcome change.
"Hi guys. You must be really hungry if you're willing to sit back here."
"Nah, but we could use a couple of cups of coffee when you get a chance," Skittery smiled.
Irish returned with the coffeepot and two large mugs. "Hey, Specs. Where's Dutchy? I don't think that I've ever seen you without him?"
Specs didn't reply. He just gave Irish a sideways glance.
Irish looked at Skittery who raised his eyebrows and shrugged.
Irish took the hint and went back into the kitchen.
"Email started taking steroids to bulk up for the wrestling team," Skittery began. "It wasn't long before he was trying other stuff. Do you know why Dutchy started?"
"Yeah. But he made me promise not to tell."
"Look, Specs. I'm not saying that you should tell me. And I don't want you to think that I'm prying into your personal business, but you need to tell somebody. The kid obviously needs help, and keeping it quiet isn't doing him any good."
Reluctantly, Specs told Skittery the events of the fall dance. "He hasn't been right since then, Skitts. I don't know what I'm gonna do."
"So those pricks are still at it? I'm surprised that someone hasn't killed them by now."
"You know about the Delanceys?"
"Why do you think I started carrying that stick around with me? They tried to jump me three years ago after a stickball game. A home run wasn't the only thing I hit that day!"
"Well, why do they keep getting away with it? I keep hearing about more and more people those two animals have hurt. I've always known that they were a couple of pricks. They've been picking on kids for as long as I can remember, but I never heard about them . . . doing what they did to us. Why didn't anybody warn us? Why hasn't anyone said anything?"
"Why haven't you?" Skittery asked sharply.
Specs was taken aback by his friend's bluntness, but he knew that Skittery was right. The thought had crossed his mind repeatedly since that night but he pushed it out as quickly as it came. How many people have Morris and Oscar hurt since the night of the dance because he didn't say anything? It was easy for him to ask why didn't anybody warn him, but he also knew that he didn't warn anyone else.
"Look, Specs. We are all in the same boat. Nobody wants to say anything because they're ashamed. I felt the same way and they didn't even succeed with me. There is a stigma attached to what happened to you. Hell, you can't even call it by name. It was rape pal. But you, and me, and everyone else are ashamed to admit it. And don't think that it hasn't crossed my mind a hundred times that by keeping quiet I only made it easier for them to do it to someone else. I know damn well that you're thinking the same thing about yourself."
As they walked to the car, Specs asked Skittery not to say anything about getting Dutchy's belongings back from the pawnshop. He wanted to deal with it in his own way, and in his own time.
That evening Specs went over to Dutchy's house.
"My God, Daniel, what happened to your face?" Dutchy's mom asked.
"I'm okay Mrs. S. We had a pick-up game down at the court today, and I took a couple of elbows to the face. You know basketball never was my best sport."
"That's putting it mildly," she replied as she examined his bruises. "I think that you'd better stick to track and swimming from now on."
"Will do, Mrs. S. Is Dutchy in his room? I picked up his guitar from the repair shop, and I know that he's anxious to get it back."
"Go on up dear. And I hope that you can cheer him up. Adam has been in a bad mood all day."
When he reached Dutchy's room Specs could hear We're not Gonna Take it by Twisted Sister blaring from the stereo. "Well, he's still pissed," Specs mumbled. "He always plays that damn song when he wants to kick somebody's ass."
After knocking several times and receiving no response, Specs leaned the guitar against the wall out in the hall and let himself in.
"I thought I told you that I didn't want - - Shit! Are you alright?"
"I'm okay. It looks a lot worse than it is."
"Oh God I'm sorry. You know I'd never want to hurt you."
"I know," Specs assured him as he went over and turned of the stereo. "But we do need to have a talk."
"I know," Dutchy said flopping himself down on the bed and burying his face in his hands. "I don't know how I let it get this far. It started out just because I wanted to have a little fun."
"First of all you've got to stop lying," Specs said as he sat on the bed next to Dutchy. "We both know why you started, and it had nothing to do with having a little fun. You haven't been right since the night of the dance."
"That's got nothing to do with it. And you promised that you weren't going to bring that up again."
"That has everything to do with it, and we are going to talk about it. I should never have made that promise. Covering up what happened to us has only made things worse. We didn't do anything wrong. We should have gone to the police right away."
"Oh sure. That would have fixed everything. You know damn well it would have been another case of the fags had it coming. We would have been the joke of the police station and the joke of school."
"You never cared what anyone thought about us before this happened. . . .Dutchy? Are you ashamed of us now?"
"No. I'm not ashamed of us! But I'm no fool either. We were idiots to think that we could get away with flaunting our relationship. Nobody wants to see us together. We make half of the people who see us together feel sick, and we make the other half wish we were dead. We're nothing but a couple of freaks and you know it!"
"I can't believe you're talking like this. And we don't flaunt our relationship. We're the same people we've always been. We never needed anyone else or their approval. And we're not freaks! Oscar put that one in your head."
"Stop it! I said that I don't want to talk about that anymore. Why do you insist on rubbing my face in that? I'm sorry, alright! I'm sorry that I let that happen to you. I'm sorry that I wasn't man enough to stop it. I know that it's my fault, but I didn't mean for it to happen!"
"What do you mean that it was your fault? None of that was your fault. You couldn't have stopped those pricks. They were looking for trouble and we just happened to be the one's they took it out on. Do you think that what they did to Racetrack was his fault? He had as much right to be in that gym as anyone. Just because he was there didn't mean that it was okay for those pricks to do that to him!"
"Get real Specs. The world thinks that we are freaks. That's why."
"Then what about Skittery? He told me that they went after him a few years ago, and he's not gay. And I defy anyone to call him a freak to his face. Anyone! Was it okay for them to go after him just because he beat them in a stickball game? . . . That's Crazy."
"Oh now you think I'm crazy?"
"Okay. This has gone far enough. Arguing about this isn't going to do either of us any good. And besides, I don't think that my nose can take another argument with you today."
"I really am sorry about that."
"I know. And to show you that there are no hard feelings I brought you a present."
Specs went out into the hall and came back in with the guitar.
"So then you know what I did?"
"Yeah, I found the ticket. I figured that you've been selling stuff to get the money to pay Pete . . . Anyway, I got this back for you."
"Thank God you found the tickets. I went back and searched all over, but I couldn't find them. I don't know how, but I'll get the money for the other stuff."
"I don't have the other tickets," Specs said. "This was the only one I could find."
What?
"Yeah. This was it." Specs felt awful lying to Dutchy, but he didn't feel that he had any choice. He didn't trust Dutchy not to pawn the items again. And if Dutchy did pawn them, Specs knew that he couldn't come up with the money to buy them back again. It took almost everything he had saved to get them back this time.
Dutchy's chest tightened as one of the few real memories of his father flashed into his mind. He was sitting up on his father's lap, and being lulled to sleep by the gentle sound of the pocket watch in his vest.
Dutchy couldn't member his father's face except for the few yellowed photographs on his mother's dresser, but the grey and black pattern of his father's vest was as clear to him as if he had seen it yesterday. He could almost feel the wool garment against his cheek as the smell of pipe tobacco, spiced cologne, and the soothing cadence of the watch flooded his mind.
Dutchy's hands began to tremble and he struggled to get them under control. A glaring patch of white skin drew his attention to his ring finger. It was like a ghost image of what was once in its place. He remembered the night that Specs had given him the ring.
Their relationship was easy and natural. There was no beginning. It has always been. They never felt a need to speak about their future. Spending the rest of their lives together was a given. It would simply be a part of the natural progression of the way things should be.
Dutchy recalled how surprised he was when Specs began to talk about their future.
"You know that I love you," Specs said. "And I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
"I know," Dutchy replied. "I love you too."
"Please, Dutch. I know that keeping quiet isn't something that you're very good at, but if you would just shut-up for a minute and let me say what's on my mind it would make this a lot easier."
"Okay," Dutchy replied cautiously.
"You and I are never going to have the kind of life that conventional couples have. There aren't going to be any ceremonies or parties celebrating our decision to be together. It's just going to be you and me like it's always been."
"That's always been good enough for me," Dutchy interrupted.
"Damn-it Dutch! Would it kill you to be quiet for just one minute? What I'm trying to say is that want something tangible to represent our commitment to each other."
Specs slid the ring from his finger and held it up to Dutchy. "This is my commitment to you. This is my promise that I will always love you and that I will always be there for you."
The memory of Specs sliding the ring onto his finger sent a combination of panic, nausea, and remorse through Dutchy's body. He never needed a fix more than he did at that moment.
"I really am sorry about all of this, Specs. You know that I never wanted any of this to happen."
"I know," Specs said as he moved Dutchy's blond hair away from his eyes. "But you can't keep taking drugs. I can't stand to see you like this."
"I'll stop," Dutchy said as he laid his head on Specs shoulder. "I promise I will."
"That was the start of some pretty bad times for both of us," Dutchy sighed. "I don't know how you managed to stay with me through all of that."
"How could I not want to stay with you?" Specs whispered against his cheek. "It's like you said, God created us to be together. Who am I to question the wisdom of the almighty?"
A slight shudder ran through his spine as Dutchy looked into Specs's eyes. He was sure that he could see the beauty of his lover's soul, and his own, in their soothing darkness.
"Hey. What are you two so serious about?" Spot called out.
"We were just talking about when I went over to the dark side," Dutchy replied.
Their conversation was interrupted by David and Itey's laughter. Then Itey put a new CD into the player.
"Oh no!" Spot shouted when the music started to play. "You ain't gonna play that shit around me!"
Itey responded by turning up the volume.
It was the Macarena. Spot absolutely hated the Macarena.
David and Itey started to dance. Soon Chris and Mush joined them.
"Itey, you son of a bitch! You know I hate it when you play that!"
Itey just smiled at Spot and waved.
"What's the problem?" Tony asked.
"Itey knows that I can't stand that song. He used to play it over and over when we were in the Corps just to piss me off!"
"Well, it still works," Tony grinned. "You keep this up, and you're going to give yourself a stroke!"
"Yeah, lighten up, Spot," Jack laughed.
"What are you laughing?" at Spot grumbled. "That's your wife making a fool out of himself out there."
"Well, Spot. If you can't beat 'im then join 'im." Specs said as he pulled Dutchy out onto the floor.
"That's it!" Spot shouted as he fought back his laughter. "I can't stand it. You're all insane! I'm giving up on men! From now on, it's women all the way!"
"Well if that's the way you feel my ex-wife is always looking for a good time," Mush laughed. "Why don't you give her a call?"
"Give me her number, and I will!" Spot laughed back.
"Why should I bother to write it down for you? Just go into the men's room and copy it off the wall yourself!"
"You have to admit it guys," Jack said as he watched David and the others dancing. "We do have a strange group of friends!"
End Chapter 14
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