 
### Andrew and Steven

Kenneth Wise

Smashwords Edition
Copyright @ 2013 by Kenneth Wise

Cover by Katrina Joyner

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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.

### Chapter 1

Steven Cross was just sixteen when the Juvenile Court Judge softly uttered those clamorous words that echoed off the walls and windows until they had become like hundreds of bass drums being pounded in unison and forming a single point of light driven to a spot directly between his eyes. It drilled a hole to the center of his brain where it exploded and reduced his ability to comprehend to zero. "Steven, I am ordering that you be committed to the Boys' Correctional Facility for an indeterminate length of time. I hope some good will come from this unfortunate occurrence in your young life." Steven sat there, stunned; his entire body on fire, not knowing if he should be laughing or crying. He wanted to scream, "You want good to come from this 'unfortunate occurrence in my young life'? You fucking moron! You are sending me to the 'prison preparatory school' and you hope some good comes from it?" His whole body was shaking from a combination of fear, anger, and frustration.

"Do you understand this court's ruling?" the judge was asking. Steven sat speechless playing with the black tie he had worn today to impress the judge. Starched white shirt and black pants topped off with a black tie that made him look like the bread deliveryman; some impression that effort made on the judge. He understood the words but he sure as hell did not understand the logic behind them. A light touch from his father brought Steven back to reality. "Yes Sir!" were the only words he could find.

"Do you have anything you would like to say to the court or to anyone in attendance here today?" Steven's mind was racing. There were a lot of things he would like to say; he would like to tell the judge what an asshole he thought he was, or to tell the Juvenile Officer, Mr. Howell where he thought he should go, but he knew that wouldn't help his situation any, even though the personal satisfaction might have been worth whatever the consequences.

"I just want to say I'm sorry to my parents for all the trouble I have caused them and to thank Mr. Howell for trying to help me and that I am sorry I didn't take advantage of his help," Steven said in a clear, strong voice that betrayed his rage and his fear.

"So," the Judge said, "That concludes our business. The Sheriff's Deputies will now take you into custody and you will be escorted to the County Juvenile Detention Center; there to await transport to the state facility. You may have five minutes to say good-bye to your parents." With that the Judge got up and exited the third floor office that served as the Juvenile Court Room.

Steven hugged his mother, who was softly weeping, and who did not want to let go. If he had sad feelings for anyone, it was his mother. She did not deserve all the bad things that had happened in her young life. When talking to his friends he would always call her his "old lady", like everyone else did; the "old man" and the "old lady." It was not until this very moment that he realized that she was not really old, but through unfortunate experiences, she had aged far beyond her years. He was sorry that he added more sorrow to her life. He wished he could tell her that someday she would be proud of him but he knew that they would be only empty words that had been said many times before; he let it go and whispered in her ear, "I am sorry mom, I do love you." Then he shook hands with his father; said he was sorry. His father wished him good luck and said to his wife, Steven's mother, "We better go, I don't want to be late for work." They left and that was that. "Good luck", that was all he could say to his son who was being needlessly sent to an institution where he would probably learn how to be a criminal. "I guess that's all he had time for", Steven thought. He had looked at his father as they were engaged in the manly expression of nothing; the handshake. He was in his late fifties, still thin, his red hair turning gray and his hairline receding. The years of alcohol abuse showed in his face like a street light on a dark night. Alcohol, that was his father's one and only love. Alcohol, it always came before his wife, his kids, or his responsibility as the head of a household. "Good luck to you too", he wanted to say, but just couldn't find the energy to say anything to the man who had lost interest in his son before he was even old enough to learn the "times tables."

The deputies who were waiting asked Steven to empty his pockets, frisked him a little, handcuffed his shaking hands behind his back and walked him to the third floor of the parking garage to their waiting patrol car, and helped him into the back seat. Before he closed the door, one of the deputies squatted so that he and Steven were face to face. "I think you got a raw deal in there son", the officer said, "but that's over; nothing you can do to change that. From now on, though, behave yourself up there; follow every order, work hard, don't let anyone drag you down and you can get through this. Good luck!" He bowed his head slightly for just a few seconds, then stood up, and said to his partner, "Let's go Rob." They closed their doors and off they all went. Steven was sure the officer had said a quick silent prayer for him; it was a kindness he would never forget.

The three week stay at the detention center was not so bad. Everyone there fell into one of two categories. One group was waiting to find the terms of their probation and then heading home. The others, like Steven, were all headed to the Boys Correctional Center. Some were afraid; some were cocky; while others were a mixture of many complex emotions, like Steven. He was very scared but had made up his mind that no one would ever see his fear and yet he would avoid trouble, unless it was impossible. All he wanted was to get this ordeal over with and he was not going to let anyone else screw up his chances of getting his life back. He was just as sure that he was not going to let anyone hurt him. He knew he was embarking on a very treacherous path that could turn to quicksand under his feet and send him sinking into an abyss from which there would be no return and would alter his life forever.

His day finally arrived when a man and woman came to escort him to the facility known as "The Hill," and into the hands of the officials of that state facility.

Before they left, Mr. Alomar, the director of the detention center, and a former professional boxer, put his hands on Steven's shoulders and said, "Keep yourself strong and straight. Keep your eyes on the goal. If you do, you will soon be home and putting your young life back together. OK?" Steven looked in Mr. Alomar's eyes, thanked him and said; "Don't worry! The next time you see me, you will be proud of how well I did." Alomar and Steven shook hands, not a cold handshake like his father's. Mr. Alomar grasped his hand with both of his huge rough hands and Steven knew that the man was sincere and cared about him. He wished him well and turned him over to the 'escorts'. He never saw Mr. Alomar again. He periodically would think about him and wonder how he was and if life was as good to him as he was to the kids he took under his wings and tried to give hope.

The Hill. The Boy's Correctional Facility was a collection of about thirty dark red, ivy-covered buildings that must have all been designed by the same architect. There were dormitories, a massive dining hall, a school, a hospital, a power plant and various other buildings and facilities that would be needed to operate a self-contained village. The whole thing sat on a hill, one that had been bulldozed into a Midwest mesa, with a commanding view of the flat farmland that spread out in every direction.

The current residents, on the day Steven arrived, included murderers, gang members, sex offenders, and hardened criminals, all under the age of eighteen. There were others, like Steven, who had been sent here for some petty offenses by a petty Judge and Juvenile Officer. In fact most of the kids here were like Steven and ended up here because they just did not fit into the expected boundaries of behavior, which had been determined by people who had forgotten what it was like to be young.

Steven looked around and knew he would have to try to be invisible, but be tough when circumstances demanded it. He hated everyone who had conspired to send him to this god-forsaken dungeon.

The normal stay in the reception center dorm was three weeks, and then each new "resident" was assigned to a permanent cottage. When nearly four weeks had passed and he had no permanent assignment, Steven, after being given permission to speak, asked the lead cottage manager when he might expect his assignment. "Don't worry about it," the manager bellowed, "you are being shipped to some other facility." Steven started to ask about the change but the manager signaled that his speaking time was over.

### Chapter 2

The next Monday morning, Steven was taken to the administration building, where, after the required paperwork was completed, he was reunited with his personal property, and turned over to a middle-aged, unremarkable looking man who directed him to his car. He put Steven's personal property into the trunk, and closed the lid. Steven was standing quietly, waiting to be handcuffed, so he wasn't a threat to the driver. He was shocked when the driver opened the passenger side door and told him to get in and relax for a few moments until he signed even more paperwork. The driver came out of the office, got in the car, put the car in gear, said "Let's get out of this place!" and drove away.

He asked the driver exactly where it was that he was being taken. He was worried because he had been given no information about the place he was going, not even the name of the place. As they drove and Steven listened to the driver, he noticed that the day was bright, almost cloudless, not like the dreary day when he was driven to "The Hill." It had drizzled and was cold, the kind of cold that gets clear into one's bones.

The driver told him that his home for the next few months was a new facility where the staff tried to figure out why young men and young women got in trouble. He told Steven that he thought he would actually enjoy the facility, as much as one can enjoy being forced to be away from home. He would be living in a small group in a very relaxed atmosphere. He said that all the girls and boys at this facility were required to attended school, have weekly meetings with a social worker, and a psychologist. He said that, to the best of his knowledge, of the few hundred children that had been sent to this diagnostic center, no more than two or three had ever returned to the correctional facility. He said there were co-ed get-togethers where the girls and boys had parties and dances and that there were plenty of activities that Steven could participate in, or not. That would be his choice.

"Damn," Steven thought, "I don't know whether to believe this guy or not, it all seems too good to be on the level." As they drove, Mr. Philips explained to him that he was one of the Social Workers at the Diagnostic Center and that he hoped they, along with the other professionals awaiting his arrival, would have a very constructive relationship.

When they arrived at The Center, there was two papers Steven had to sign, one was the general rules for the kids at the center, the second was just an acknowledgement that he had arrived in good condition and gave the Doctors and Nurses at The Center permission to conduct and administer various tests and to treat him for any medical disorders discovered. That was it.

He was given five new blue sweat shirts with a white, three inch letter "D" near the neck line. "D" was the group that Steven had been assigned to.

Mr. Philips escorted Steven to his pod and explained about the pods, clusters and other details about the building and The Center. Along the way he pointed out the school, the infirmary, and dining hall. Steven could not believe this was an institution for Juvenile Delinquents; it was more like a college campus.

When they arrived at the door to his pod, there was just a regular door and a door bell, which Mr. Philips explained I would have to ring whenever I was returning to the pod from school or appointments with Doctors, Social Workers, work, and other activities.

He rang the bell and in about thirty seconds, instead of a guard, they were greeted by Aunt Bea. The first thing that crossed his mind was to wonder if Opie was here too.

Mrs. Ferguson was the spitting image of Aunt Bea from the Andy Griffith TV show. She was in her mid to late forties, about five foot, four inches tall, just slightly overweight and had her light brown hair pulled into a bun on top of her head. Steven imagined a pencil or two sticking in her bun.

She greeted him as if she was a mother greeting him when he stopped by a friend's house.

Mr. Philips bade him goodbye and good luck getting moved in and left. Mrs. Ferguson showed Steven through the Pod and finally took him to the dorm room and gave him a choice of the two empty beds. She explained that one of the rules she enforced stringently was that after breakfast we could not go back to bed until seven in the evening. She told him that the rule did not apply to Saturday afternoons or Sundays. She also explained that because of state laws regulating institutions, only three boys were allowed in the shower room at a time, each in a private stall. Also one of the house parents would be in an entry area keeping track of who comes and goes. Only two boys were permitted in the restroom at once. Again a house parent was on duty in the outer room whenever someone was in the rest room.

Mrs. Ferguson explained to him that there were not a lot of rules. Mostly the rules that one would be expected to follow at home, at school or work.

He was surprised when one of the house parents brought his personal belongings to the room and Mrs. Ferguson told him to get unpacked and organized and then wander around the pod and get used to where everything was. She told him to try to think of The Center as "home" not as an institution. With that she left him and he found himself standing alone, for the first time in months.

### Chapter 3

The place was everything Mr. Philips had described and more. He met with Mr. Philips and Dr. Ledderman, his Psychologist, on a regular basis. They administered all kinds of tests and had interesting and intense discussions about many different subjects and many different aspects of life. Steven was learning more about himself than the professionals who worked so hard to understand and help him could ever imagine.

Mr. Philips was most interested in how he fit in with his family and with the other kids he went to school with at home. There was a lot of discussion about how he treated his family and how he felt they treated him.

He tried to be honest and told the Social Worker that his siblings were all older than he was, married and moved into their own homes. "The only time they even think about me is when they want something", he said. He felt like his parents just thought of him as a distraction from their own lives. "I rarely saw them and when I did, they usually had a laundry list of things I had done wrong or things I should have done and didn't do at all and trying to talk to them about school or asking for help with my homework usually resulted in the revelation that I should ask my teachers," Steven had said once during one of their meetings.

Mr. Philips also administered different types of aptitude tests and manual dexterity tests that were meant to try and help Steven find what kind of work he would like to do and what he might be suited to.

Sometimes it was hard to think of Mr. Philips as a Social Worker, or as someone who possessed power. But he had no illusions. Mr. Philips did wield a lot of power and owned a large portion of the authority that would determine the direction of his life.

He was like the father of the kids that lived next door. He went to work every day but none of the kids knew exactly what he did. That was true of all the fathers, even if the kids knew where their fathers worked, they really didn't know what they did. Just looking at him, Steven would have guessed School Teacher, Architect, or Bus Driver, in that order. He was very plain looking. He was tall, but under six feet and thin as a rail. He had red hair, but it was almost blonde when the sun hit it and the steeliest blue/gray eyes Steven had ever seen.

During one session, Mr. Philips asked, "How do you and your cousin Thomas get along?" Steven was suddenly very leery but answered, "We get along pretty well. We have done a lot of things together but his parents keep a pretty tight rein on him."

Philips, "That would be your Uncle Ross and Aunt Lily?"

"Yes," answerer Steven, "the hierarchy of the perfect family."

"Have you had any trouble with them?" He wanted to know.

"Not really," Steven said as he found a spot on the wall to stare at.

The Social Worker said. "Steven, I thought we had an agreement to be honest with each other. Did something happen to change that?"

"I've never had a problem with them, they have always treated me kindly." Steven answered, never moving his eyes from his favorite spot on the wall. "We used to visit them a lot and I went on vacation there a few times, like a week at a time.

Philips, after a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, "But?"

Steven's face turned red and he fought to hold back the emotions that seemed to well up in him far too often and with far too much intensity since he arrived here. He did his best to compose himself and spoke, "I have always been jealous of him and his family." As soon as he said that, he was back in control of his emotions. "Everything about them is perfect and I have always felt like the wild cousin from the wrong side of town." He could not believe the way his nervous system settled down as soon as he confessed. It was like confessing in church and feeling the weight of one's sin evaporate into the unknown.

The Social Worker part of Mr. Philips took over his demeanor and he began helping Steven search for answers to questions he had never thought to ask himself. "Why was that so hard to get off your chest?"

"It's another weakness, another failure; that I am jealous. It's even a sin."

"Steven, why do you put so much weight on the things you call "weaknesses" that you think you possess?"

"Based on the civil and criminal laws, the church teaching, school directions, family expectations and guidelines for just about any club, team, or organizations in general, I am a waste of anyone's time. I either measure myself or others measure me against those things and I am, in very general terms, a loser."

Philips decided to let it go for that session and come back to it later. These kids, he knew, were like ticking time bombs and had to be defused slowly. The young people who Philips had dealt with there had been neglected, hurt, or abused in so many different ways that establishing even the smallest bond of trust with one of them sometimes seemed like a monumental task. That bond was fragile and not something to take lightly or to abuse. Steven, like most of the kids Philips dealt with, feared that opening up about even the simplest detail of their feelings just put them in position for more hurt, more pain. The professionals at The Center considered most of the kids that had come through there to be gifted, wonderful children who could conquer the world if they chose to do so. Instead, they considered themselves "damaged goods."

Mr. Philips was taken by surprise during one session when he asked Steven what he thought he wanted to be when he grew up and Steven answered," My two dream jobs would be to either live on my own in the wilderness, studying nature and the footprints that humans had made on the earth, like Thoreau: or starting my own school based on the old Greek Academy model."

Most people did not know the depth of knowledge Steven had acquired from the studies he had undertaken on his own. Just because he was not a good student didn't mean he was not a good learner. His learning program just wasn't the same as the school's.

Every meeting caused Mr. Philip's respect for Steven to grow. He had also determined that he would be a "duck out of water" no matter where he was or what he did. In his official notes, Mr. Philips stated that he believed that Steven's mind worked on a different plane than that of the "normal" population, given his background.

### Chapter 4

All the kids at The Center, besides going to school and attending the sessions with their social worker and psychologist, were required to work a certain number of hours a week. Usually the jobs required two or three hours a day three days a week but the kids received fifteen hours a week toward their "labor" requirement. The jobs were all easy and most kids had fun because they felt like they had some unplanned free time.

The jobs varied from washing dishes in the main dining room, to cleaning the gym, to cleaning classrooms. Of course, as with any home or business, someone had to be responsible for trash and garbage collection. The "garbage men" jobs were not assigned but were filled strictly with volunteers. There were few volunteers; most of the kids did not want to stoop so low as to be "garbage men;" besides it was a dirty and smelly job.

The garbage men worked from one to six in the afternoon every day and there were usually two crews, so each crew worked three or four days a week. The kids went to school five hours a day when they were on trash duty. While most kids hated even the thought of picking up trash and garbage, others volunteered every week. It seemed that some kids, like Andrew and Steven, were smarter than some others and could see more to this job than just picking up everyone else's trash.

The trash crew picked up the refuse from the center and from the adjacent institution. Trash was picked up twice a day, one PM and again at five PM. Each pick up took about an hour. Once the trash was collected, the adult trash supervisor, Mr. Jablonski, drove to a landfill and dumped the trash.

Mr. Jablonski was an older guy, at least to teen and preteen agers at The Center; in truth he was about fifty. He reminded Steven of the steel workers that surrounded him in his hometown. To Steven, he had one of the most distinctive and memorable faces he could remember. He thought Jablonski had the kind of face great artists look for. It was creased and looked like he had spent years at sea on an open boat. His deep set eyes were as black as coal and matched his short cropped hair and he seemed to have a permanent scowl. The most prominent feature was his nose. Maybe he used to be a fighter because it was badly bent from having been broken so many times. It reminded Steven of an eagle's beak, and he worked hard at projecting that kind of personality. As it turned out he was actually one of the nicest and "coolest" guys at The Center. Steven thought Mr. Jablonski was likely a great father and grandfather. He always seemed to appreciate the fact that Steven never called him anything but "Mr. Jablonski.

The helpers, the kids who had volunteered to help, were "free" for about three hours a day. The Director of The Center and his staff had completely overlooked that situation and, since there had never been any trouble, they never caught on to the secret of the garbage man job. Those who knew the secret, kept it a secret.

### Chapter 5

Steven went to school every day, took the classes he wanted and was getting excellent grades. His group went to the gym for two hours, three times a week and on Saturday all the groups in the building went to the gym together.

There were dance lessons with the girls who were there, undergoing the same testing as the boys. There were co-ed dances and parties, some with live, exceptional entertainment. He knew that even these entertainments were part of the process of trying to understand and help each kid to understand and develop their interpersonal skills, but they were fun nonetheless.

The group was in one of three in the building, called a cluster. Each group lived in what was called a pod. Each pod had a TV room, a Ping-Pong table, a reading room, a crafts room, a kitchen, although everyone ate at the main dining hall except for special occasions. There were three four-bed dorm rooms and three private rooms in each pod. The private rooms were assigned to the boys who displayed leadership skills, worked hard in school, and adhered to the rules. In just a short time, Steven was assigned to a private room and was responsible for the leadership of a four-bed dorm room.

The other two rooms were vacant for a few weeks until two boys who would become Steven's best friends were moved into private rooms and positions of leadership. Steven and Andrew Chambers grew close and were nearly inseparable, but John Kittic, the third leader, although he would remain a great friend, began to spend time away from them, because, he said, their conversations were too serious and too deep for him. He said he didn't care about Philosophy, Literature and Science the way Steven and Andrew did. He once said, "I care more about the basketball or football game on TV, not where we came from, why we are here, or where we are going"

John was most likely a bully at home. Steven noticed that he liked to hang around the younger, less mature kids rather than kids like Steven, who he knew better than to even think about bullying.

John was sixteen and already nearly six feet tall but bulky and less muscular than one would expect of someone his height. He was immature in other ways as well. Steven wondered if he was a little slow. He had no dreams, except to become an automobile mechanic, and avoided everything that would open other doors to him.

The three boys took typing at the school and that turned out to be a big joke. None could master the proper fingering and continued to use just two fingers. The teacher gave up on them and told them they could stay in the class and practice with their "hunt and peck," technique but that they were not part of, and would get no grade for the class. That worked out fine for everyone.

The boys all took Algebra, Literature & English Grammar, Science, and History. John liked the science class and did OK in algebra. The rest of the classes were useless to him. John's goal in life was to become an auto mechanic and anything that did not help him to achieve that goal he considered a waste of time.

It was in the Literature and English classes that Steven and Andrew excelled. The teacher, Miss Clutter, was in her late twenties and had been teaching in institutions like the Diagnostic Center for nearly her whole career. She was divorced because, as she once confided to her two top students, her husband wanted her to "get a job in a regular school system instead of always teaching hoodlum kids who will never learn anything anyway." As she told the boys, "teaching here is my calling. I want to spend my life helping kids that others had written off way too soon."

Miss Clutter enjoyed having a couple of students who actually liked the classes she taught. Most students were like John Kittic and were in her classroom because it was required of them. Although each student may enjoy an assignment or two, for the most part they would rather be somewhere else and doing something else. Kids were the same, even when confined to institutions like this; they knew what excited them and what bored them. Her classes, unfortunately, fell into the boring category. But, she designed her class plans and executed them, with modifications when required, to try to excite some of her students some of the time.

Miss Clutter liked to keep the students busy with reading and writing assignments. In addition to her classes, she directed the publication of The Center's newspaper and twice a year, included a booklet of works that had been submitted by residents at The Center.

One of the writing projects she assigned to her class was to prepare an essay concerning Friday the Thirteenth and the superstitions about bad luck associated with that day.

Andrew and Steven were in the day room in their group pod, working on their essays when Andrew walked over to where Steven was sitting. "Let me see your paper," Andrew demanded. Shocked, Steven, who was not used to hearing demands from peers, handed over his paper. Andrew dropped his paper and said "Read it and make notes about anything that is wrong." They proceeded to read each other's essays and make notes each thought would be helpful. They performed the exchange three more times before they were satisfied each had a perfect essay. Both boys were used to working alone and this new experience was fun and exhilarated them as they became ever more serious about their critique of each other's papers. When they had finished and were congratulating each other for the excellent work each had done, their eyes met and they held each other's gaze for just a few seconds. Steven felt the ground move under him and could tell that Andrew had the same feeling. From that instant, they both knew that their friendship went beyond definition and that the few seconds they looked into each other's eyes had changed, forever, the path of their lives.

Miss Clutter commended the boys on the quality of their papers. After class, they confessed to her what they had done. Thinking they would be in trouble, they braced for a lecture about cheating. "We did not cheat; we just corrected little things that might not be as good as they could be," Steven said defensively before Miss Clutter had a chance to speak. To their great surprise, Miss Clutter told them she thought that was fantastic, but in cases where everyone was writing about the same thing, they must be careful not to cheat. They never did cheat, ever. Each tried to make the other's work the very best. They competed with each other and at the same time encouraged and drove the other to be the very best he could be. Neither boy had ever been in a close friendship like this and, while they were enjoying the experience, it also scared them somehow. The quality of their papers was always so far above the others that Miss Clutter used a different grading scale for them. Between the writing assignments from their History Class and the assignments from Miss Clutter's class, Steven and Andrew were becoming very proficient writers, and discovered that they liked it.

They breezed through Science Class. Mr. Boggle was a good enough teacher but he was really full of himself. In Steven's mind, he pictured him thinking of himself as an English Gentleman, or maybe a Lord. He dressed almost like a character out of a Dickens novel. He always wore a three-piece suit with a long coat, and always carried a custom made English walking stick. He liked to brag that he had several and tried never to use the same one two days in a row.

He was fiftyish and had a paunchy tummy, which added to his Dickensian persona. He combed what was left of his gray hair across his balding head, as if that would somehow hide the fact that he was soon going to be as bald as a cue ball. "He probably came to that conclusion using his vast wealth of science", Steven thought, "and he is trying to teach us that same science." He was a good-natured man despite his aloofness.

The English class, as a way of helping them to become more curious about, and to be able to find new and never before noticed aspects of everyday things, was assigned to write about some aspect of another student. The rules were simple, don't write anything that would be embarrassing to the other student and students should try to pair up and write about each other. Before pairing up, students should decide if they can work together well and cannot look at each other's papers. Miss Clutter grinned as she said, "You may write about a trait or a body feature, within certain obvious limits."

Andrew and Steven decided to write something about each other. That way they didn't have to get involved with any of the other boys. They preferred each other's company. They would have let John join them and make it a round robin project but he was hooked up with someone from his shop class. "We are turning into elitists turds aren't we?" Steven said one day. Andrew was quick with a reply, "We are elite, Brainy Boy."

"Let's write about each other's hands," Steven suggested; the first thing that came to his mind. Andrew immediately became excited and agreed that their hands would make excellent subjects, "Don't all artists paint at least one masterpiece with hands as the subject? Shouldn't we be able to write a masterpiece?" asked Andrew, more as a statement than a question. So it was decided, hands it was. And they set about making the rules for developing their masterpiece.

They began in the pod's craft room, which had a high intensity light. They allotted thirty minutes for each to study the others hands and to manipulate the hands and the light in any way they desired. After that thirty-minute time period, they could not study or touch the other's hands until the assignment was turned in. They each sat at a different table facing away from each other so as not to look at the other's hands.

Having only three days to finish the assignment, they worked feverishly; each hoping their paper was not the worst in the class.

### Chapter 6

The papers were turned in during Friday's class. Most students completed the project; some with more effort than others; some did next to nothing.

Over the weekend, as Miss Clutter began reading and grading the papers from her three classes, she found most to be dry and unimaginative, something whipped up in an hour. But she came to one that nearly took her breath away.

"Your fingers are so long and firm. They are perfect; they contain no flaws, so soft in the right places and slightly rough in others. As I look at the palm of your hand and the many lines that crisscross them, I think of highways to other universes. Touching the center of the palm of your hand is exciting as the muscles tense and your pinkie finger twitches with excitement at being called into action. Your hands, when light falls across them just right, and highlights just certain portions while hiding others, look like a sculptor's work in progress."

There was more, but she had to stop and let her senses catch up to her. The work was excellent and she wondered how the writer had found the inspiration for his paper. She looked to see who had written the paper. "Steven Cross" she said aloud to an empty study in a house that only she occupied.

She finished reading the essay and was visibly shaking by the time she got to the end. She thought to herself "No teenage boy should be able to write something so beautiful and heartfelt." Then, out of left field, she had a feeling, a combination of equal parts excitement and dread.

She searched through the pile and found the paper turned in by Andrew Chambers, her other star pupil. She began to read:

"When you ball your hands into fists they feel as smooth as marble. Touching them is as if to touch the Mona Lisa or the statue of David. When you extend your hands with the index fingers and thumbs touching, it looks like a diamond in the center and each finger looks like a shaft of light radiating from the diamond's brilliance. As the light moves around your posed hands, one can almost see the color and fineness of the diamond. It's as if your hands have a soul of their own and those privileged to see your hands as I do can see the beauty and the depth of your soul."

She had to stop to let her emotions calm a bit. Never had one of her institutionalized students taken the time or put in an effort to write something as complex and as emotionally perfect as this. Now, suddenly she had two at once. As a teacher she was elated but as the adult in the room she had a nagging feeling that the beautiful prose she was reading was an omen of something less beautiful. She pushed that negativity aside, for now.

She finished reading the essay and laid it aside with Steven's.

She stared off into the silence of space and wondered about the two papers and suddenly she said to no one, "My God, they sound like two people in love; I wonder if they realized that."

Then it hit her, they were in love and likely didn't have a clue. Only two people in love could see that depth of beauty in each other. "But then again", she said to herself, "I may not be the best judge of what love is. I didn't have much success in that area of my own life."

"Should I do or say anything?" She said to the embers in the fireplace. She decided to watch their work, and their actions, very carefully and make sure there was nothing that merited reporting. She wished there was someone she could talk to but knew that just the mention of a concern could destroy the lives of these kids. "I will just trust my instincts", she whispered.

One day while sitting in the day room listening to the radio and feeling bored with their poetry assignment, Andrew asked Steven if he would like to get some poetry books from the library and find some place private and read. "Maybe we can write something that compares with the masters, at least a little." Andrew said. "I'll bet we can learn to write as good as some of them, if we try." Steven said. That was the beginning of the journey, two boys, best friends, with brains like sponges and a quest for learning, challenged the world. They began soaking up knowledge, not just about poetry, but about anything that crossed their young minds.

They did find a quiet place and went there often and read Keats, and Burns, and Dickinson. They read Shakespeare and Augustine. They read Aristotle and Plato, and Newton, and Galileo. They read Engels and Marx. They read Frost and Nietzsche. They thought that each of the writers, in order to use their minds to see the world in so many different ways and find the right words and use them the way they did to explain what their minds had discovered, must have been given that ability by a much higher power than could be found in the classroom or even the library. That power could only be God. They wanted to be just like those thinkers and prayed that God would grant them the ability to learn and to never lose the desire to learn.

### Chapter 7

Dr. Ledderman, Steven's Psychologist, was fun to be with, even though he was trying to pry Steven's brain apart. He administered a lot of tests; some were fun, sometimes funny. The Ink Blot and Word Association Tests were his favorite. The most interesting was the EEG test. He did not understand it, but it was something new and interesting.

Mr. Ledderman was a big man, He stood at least six feet five and he weighed close to four hundred pounds if he weighed an ounce. His voice did not fit his physical appearance; it was not soft but also not gruff. Steven thought his voice was like a lot of movie Santa Claus'. When he raised his voice just a little above the normal conversational level, he reminded Steven of an Irish Tenor warming up. He was a man, Steven thought, who really likes what he is doing.

The first time they met, Dr. Ledderman promised him that nothing he said would ever leave the confines of that office except for the reports he was required to submit, and those would be the Doctor's impressions, not the content of their conversations. He said that there were also some very rare situations when he would be required by law to report on certain conversations. Steven decided to give him his trust. "He is someone who can be trusted" Steven had said to himself and to Andrew many times.

He asked his Doctor as many questions as the reverse. He found out that the Doctor was an overweight prodigy who graduated from high school when he was eleven and had his first Master's Degree at fifteen. He completed the work for his first PhD by the time he was twenty and his PhD in Psychology at twenty five. Steven was shocked to learn that his first doctorate was in Physics and that he decided he did not like the career paths opened to him and knew he wanted to do something that would help people, "and so here I am" he said as he slapped his hands on his thighs as if to say amen.

He met with Dr. Ledderman at least twice a week and his mind had been probed in so many ways that he thought his head was full of sponge material. The most serious parts of their discussions, and the ones Steven hated most, involved sex and Steven's attitude toward it. On days when he felt mad, and hurtful, he would allow himself to think that the good doctor was getting his own satisfaction from Steven's sex life. Of course he knew that Ledderman got no satisfaction from any part his life. He knew that this gentle giant genius wanted nothing but to help Steven, if not to solve his various problems to at least recognize and admit that he had them.

They had established very early on that Steven had already been involved in sexual activity and the doctor would periodically use part of their session to talk about sex.

"What do you talk about when you are having sexual intercourse," Letterman asked him once. Steven thought it was a silly question. "I don't talk, I perform. Talking comes before and after but while we are doing it, I don't have time to have a conversation," Steven told him, sounding like a smartass punk of sixteen who thought he had an answer for every question.

During one session Ledderman asked him if he had sex with every girl he dated. "No." Steven said curtly. "Why not?" The Doctor asked, just as curtly. Steven hated this part of their discussions because he was always confused when the session ended. "If I think I am in love with a girl", Steven continued, now sounding like a teacher trying patiently to teach math fundamentals to a slow student, "I would not even try to have sex with her; sex could wait, but other girls I date; who I obviously like if I am dating them but that I'm not in love with; if they want to, then we have sex. I just can't have sex with someone I love." Steven told him.

The Doctor: "How do you know which girls you are in love with and which ones you just like?"

"It's just a feeling. I can't describe it. It's just a feeling."

"What happens if you just like someone and have sexual relations with her and then fall in love with her later?" The Doc wanted to know.

"That would never happen. I could never fall in love with a girl that I had already done it with."

"Why?" Once again Ledderman hit Steven with his favorite question.

Steven tried to explain. "If I felt like I was in love with a girl, then there must be something special about her. I would have respect for her and always treat her like a queen. I would be proud just to be with her. With a girl like that I would just like to be with her, talk about interesting things, go to nicer places than where I usually hang out, flirt with each other just for the fun of it. If I was dating a girl that I'm not in love with, someone I was just in like with, then anything both of us want to do, we can do."

"So you think sex and love are two separate things? You don't think they are connected, that they cannot be mixed together?" asks the doc.

"Yes, I think they are two different things. There is no connection."

The Doctor: "Would you marry someone you love"

"Of course," blurted Steven to another silly question.

Ledderman asked, "Would you have sex with her after you were married?"

Steven hesitated, trying to figure out if it was a trick question and when he it was safe he finally answered, "That's different. Once you are married it is normal to have sex. You are supposed to start a family and sex is the only way to do that"

"I see", says Ledderman raising his bushy eyebrows. Then sex would not be for enjoyment?

"I guess", Steven replied, knowing by the new height of his eye brows that his doctor had somehow painted him into a corner again.

"Steven," asked Dr. Ledderman, "How much older than you was the first person you had sex with?"

Steven thought for a few seconds before answering, "Eight."

"Why did you have sex with someone that much older than you?" Ledderman wanted to know.

Steven said, "It just happened. She said she wanted to break me in right. That was probably just a joke. She was the sister of a friend who I always thought had a really hot body. My friend set up the whole thing when I was sleeping over at their house."

The doctor continued, "So you were raped." It was a statement; not a question.

Steven was getting angry and shouted, "Hell no! It was just sex. I did not force her and no one forced me. I would never; ever force anyone to have sex with me and hope I never have to know what it feels like to be forced."

Again with raised eyebrows Ledderman said "I see."

Every time they talked about sex, Dr. Ledderman would bring up the question of Steven's belief that there was no connection between love and sex and every time Steven would leave; confused again and frustrated that he could not see the connection and why everyone else did.

Another one of Dr. Ledderman's favorite subjects was his concern that Steven did not seem to have very many close friends. Steven told him that he thought friendship was hard. Two or three close friends was almost too much to handle, he had found, because there would always come a time when there would be a problem between them and he would be expected to take sides, which he would refuse to do. He failed to admit or confess to the fact that he would "take a bullet" for the few close friends he had, or that he protected them like a mama bear protecting her cubs.

In one particular session, Ledderman wanted to know why he could not keep a steady girlfriend; had so few friends and isolated himself from his family and other adults who could help him. They were deep into a session that had already been very contentious. He was nearly shouting when he asked the question. He knew Steven well by now and knew what it took to stir up some emotion and get him talking.

"Damn Doc, why do you keep badgering me? I can't keep girlfriends for long because they think I have weird and impossible dreams. Most of them have no dreams. They want to marry some guy who will get a job at the steel mill, have a few kids, hang around with the rest of the neighborhood ladies and live happily ever after. Do you know that most of them don't even care if they graduate from high school? Some of them even want to get knocked up so they can quit school and nail down the man of their dreams. Well that ain't me, Doc! I don't know what I want, but I want something. I just don't need friends all that bad; I do better on my own. And talk about family; shit, what family? They alienated me, not the other way around." Steven yelled at the big man who towered over him.

"So no one else is good enough to live in your world? You are just so damn special that no one else can measure up," the Doctor yelled back at him with a much deeper, booming voice.

Steven was standing, tears forming in the corners of his eyes, and shouted right back. "Leave me alone. Just don't worry about how many friends I have; or why I can't keep a girlfriend. It's none of your damn business!"

"Everything is my business kid", Letterman hollered, "You think you're too good to answer my questions?" The doctor knew he was pushing him and that he would keep pushing. He knew that he had to get Steven mad enough to blow up. He knew it was the only way to get Steven to spill his guts.

"What do you want to do now; go hide in the corner and try to figure out how long forever is? Look around, buster. All the corners are full; you can't tune me out." The Doctor shouted.

"I said to leave me the hell alone," Steven shouted back but now he was shaking and his voice was cracking.

"Why?", continued Letterman, "You gonna find something to hit me with? Is that why you don't have friends, because they are afraid of you?"

"Damn you Doc!"

Letterman knew Steven was close to letting all that anger explode. "Damn me. Damn me. That's it! You think I should just take that curse and run home and hide? Well damn YOU! Tell me why you don't have friends."

"Leave me alone!"

"Why don't you have friends, Steven? I want to know why you don't have friends."

Steven Finally exploded. "Because sooner or later they will desert me, turn on me, lie about me, do all kinds of shit to fuck over me and hurt me and I DO NOT want to be hurt anymore! I don't want to be hurt anymore!" Steven said with his head hanging, looking like a dog that had been kicked, and sobbing in pain as his anger subsided, "I don't want to be hurt anymore! In a voice trailing off Steven whispered," Please, I don't want to be hurt anymore."

Ledderman was standing face to face with Steven and as his energy waned, the boy fell into the waiting, protecting arms of the doctor, who held him and let him cry until he got it all out of his system. There was a lot to get out. "Sometimes I hate my job." Ledderman thought to him self. "These kids have so much pain bottled up inside them and the only way I can help is to cause them more pain."

"Young man, I am speaking as a friend," the doctor said almost in a whisper as he continued to hold his young patient, "and I am telling you that you are destined for a very sad and very lonely life if you don't find a way to trust other people, at least some other people. I am afraid our time together in this place is far too short for me to help you, but please believe me that you need help or you will never achieve your wonderful dreams."

After he had regained his composure, Steven left the Doctor's office and as he walked to the pod he thought about what Dr. Ledderman had just said and knew his friend was right. He also knew he was headed for a very sad and very lonely life.

### Chapter 8

It was during the "free" time during the "garbage man" duty that Andrew and Steven went to their secret place. On the grounds was a large brick building that was used for nothing but a parking dock for the garbage truck. While exploring one day, the boys found what must have been a storage room connected to a main room. The smaller than normal entry door was hidden behind the door to the larger room. They claimed it for themselves and there they founded 'The A&S School of Whatever A&S Wanted'. Here, Andrew and Steven explored worlds that they never dreamed existed. They learned more about science and physics in their private little basement classroom than they had or would ever learn in a regular classroom. They checked out books from the library and borrowed books from teachers. They read more books on more subjects during those few months of "trash duty" than their fellow students, or inmates, or whatever they were, would read in their lives. And they wrote. They would give each other writing assignments picked randomly from the many subjects they had discovered. They loved teaching and learning from each other.

"If people ever found out what we have been doing, what do you think they would say?" Steven said one day while they were studying.

Andrew thought for a few moments and finally answered, "I'm sure they would have nothing good to say. They would find everything about us and what we are doing to be bad, dirty, weird, and we would likely be returned to The Hill in a heartbeat."

"Why?" asked Steven.

"Because," Andrew said, slapping both of his hands on the table, "no one understands us, Brainy Boy, so they will hate us."

Steven questioned, "They hate us because we are running our own private, members-only, school, Bird Brain? Is that it?"

"I'm afraid so. It makes no sense. We are actually doing what they say they want us to do, but doing it on our own, in secret, and that is a horrible thing. The world might end if they found out what we are doing. At least our world would." They laughed at themselves.

"Imagine that, two teenagers learning without being told to," Steven said. "Disgusting!"

The boys had given each other nicknames. Steven was Brainy Boy and Andrew was Bird Brain. They did not share those names with anyone else. It was another one of their many secrets. Once Andrew had quipped that, "We are becoming more secretive than the Masons or the Odd Fellows."

"What does Mr. Philips talk to you about?" Steven asked Andrew.

"He always wants to know what I think about my family and what things I do in my spare time." Andrew answered, "How about you?"

Steven paused a moment to think. Then continued, "The same kinds of things. I told him that I love my family but I don't think they care much about me. I told him that it's the only family I have but I don't know if we have ever been a family. He keeps hinting that I may be sent to live with someone else when I leave here. I don't much want to do that but at least he is using terms that mean I might leave here without going back to The Hill. I wonder if they would consider sending us out of here together and let us be a family."

"I'm sure that idea is right on the top of their list of things they could do with us", Andrew laughed.

Breaking a short silence Andrew said, "He has asked me at least twice about how I get along in my group, especially you and John." "I told him I get along well with everyone. I explained that you and I were best friends and spend most of our time together and that even though the three of us got along because as leaders we had to set an example, we were not close to John."

"Mr. Ledderman has asked me a few times about you and me and our friendship. I think they think we are more than friends. Of course, we are more than friends but I never said that to him. I'm afraid of what he might think."

At some point, the assignments they gave to each other became like letters discussing different aspects of art, science, literature, history; and about each other. When they thought about what they were doing, Steven said, "We are getting like Marx and Engels. What do you think, Bird Brain? Will we ever be as famous?"

"Not until we are dead and our bodies rotted away," Andrew answered without the need to think about it.

"Oh, you mean like next year." Steven said, more as a statement than a question, then added "maybe we can create a new ism. Can't you just see it, ASism?

"If we make it that long." said Andrew in a tone of both sadness and resolve, as if he had accepted his fate; their fate.

"Bird Brain, if I died tomorrow would you miss me for long?" Steven asked Andrew.

"If you died tomorrow, Brainy Boy, I would not miss you because we would be buried side by side", Andrew answered and then said softly to Steven, "I love you Brainy Boy."

"I know," said Steven in a voice barely audible, "but no more than I love you."

The mid-autumn sunset was both early and beautiful on that Friday afternoon. Miss Clutter, having finished a particularly tough week in the classroom, had collected her things and was ready to go home to her German Shepherd, Verb, named for his never ending action. She was dreaming of a nice hot, bubble bath and some soft music. As she passed the window she noticed the beautiful sunset and stopped to take it all in. As she stood at the window she noticed two figures standing on a small hill, holding hands, watching the sunset. The scene caught her eye because it was so unusual in this environment. "Oh my God, I hope no one else is looking!" she suddenly said aloud and quickly looked around to be sure she was alone. Then she stood, transfixed on the scene of Andrew and Steven, looking for all the world like two young lovers watching the most beautiful sunset of their short lives.

Down the hall a few doors Mr. Boggle, the Science teacher, was also looking at the sunset. He noticed the two people and wondered if that was two of his students. "Strange," he thought to himself and picked up his coat and his custom made walking stick and headed for the door and never thought about the strange sight again, that is until the day circumstance brought back the image in brilliant clarity.

Andrew and Steven stood, holding hands, looking like the world consisted of only the sunset and them. They watched in awe. By the time the sun sank below the horizon their hands were tightly locked into each other's. They were shaking; partially from the chill in the air and partially from the beautiful experience. "As long as I live, I don't think I will ever see a sunset as beautiful as this," Steven whispered. In their young lives, there had been so few beautiful moments.

As the sun set, the sky opened up to a clear, cloudless panorama of stars that encircled the earth and seemed like a kaleidoscope of ever changing shapes and colors. The boys sat on the small rise they called a hill, hands locked, and just stared at the heavens, each full of wonder at how big the universe must be and how small they must be. And yet, they were part of it. They looked at each other and suddenly their mouths were together; their arms around each other, and they held that position for what seemed like eternity. When they finally came up for air, Andrew was the first to speak, "Well, now that's out of the way." he said.

Steven answered, "I wish that moment and that feeling could last forever."

Suddenly Andrew jumped up and said, "We gotta haul ass back to the pod before someone thinks we ran away." Time had slipped away as they were enjoying the show in the sky. They ran to the pod and rang the doorbell. When the door opened, their hearts fell. Filling the doorway was Mrs. Ferguson, looking like she was starving and suddenly found two pork chops standing in front of her. "We must be late," said Steven, looking for all the world like he was going to pee his pants.

"This better be good," she said, in a voice that projected that she was not in the mood for humor, or BS. The boys could have made up a story, which would have been ripped to shreds as Mrs. Ferguson questioned them, so they just told the truth. "We got caught up in watching the sunset and then the stars and lost track of time", Steven said, and hoped for the best.

Mrs. Ferguson, having caught a few glimpses of the sunset, decided that their story was probably true and gave them the benefit of doubt. But, since they did violate a rule, they would have to be reminded of how important that was. They had to spend the weekend rearranging the craft room furniture and supplies. They would have to give up their weekend time in the gym.

They knew Mrs. Ferguson had given them a break and thanked her and promised to never let this happen again.

Their lead pod parent, Mrs. Ferguson, who had been working with troubled kids for over thirty years and had developed some understanding of the way their young minds worked, told them; "Don't make promises you may not be able to keep; just do the best you can not to screw up." It was her experience that teenagers would make promises and when they were unable to keep their promise, they would resort to lying. She did not want them to promise never to sin again, just that they would try to walk the straight and narrow. She felt like she knew when to administer discipline and when to administer trust, and she definitely thought Andrew and Steven both had earned her trust.

The boys in the private rooms had a few more privileges than those in the dorm rooms. One of the privileges they enjoyed was two extra hours of lights-on at night. After they had assured that their charges had done their homework, showered, and put their dirty clothes in the basket, they had time to themselves. The pod parents rarely bothered them after the dorm rooms had been attended to. On the rare occasions they did check on them, they found all three working on their studies or writing letters. Usually Andrew and Steven were together and John was in his room reading Hot Rod or Motor Trend magazines, hidden inside a textbook.

Andrew had suggested that he and Steven write an essay about each other every night. Steven agreed but thought they should only exchange them once a week, that way they would not get into the habit of just responding to what might have been said in the latest "letter." "It might be interesting to see if we can do this without ever using each other's name and to write in relationship to what we have been studying in our little 'school'." They both agreed that they would be able to write more freely about their feelings and their impressions about each other if they used this system. Never once did they think of themselves as anything but best friends who looked at the world differently than most of their peers.

Each night they would write about each other then exchange them on Monday. During the week, they kept their essays mixed in with their other homework because no one ever checked their written work. After a while they started keeping them in their secret place, which was becoming quite comfortable. They had found some old folding chairs and a folding table that they moved into their room along with some shelves and two good reading lamps. They were always finding things that most likely ended up in the trash by accident. They found a 3-hole punch, a brand new pack of safety razor blades, a few binders and enough ballpoint pens and pencils that they could have opened a stationery store. Their favorites were the quill pens and bottles of ink, and the new type pen with the cartridges.

Their room itself had been some sort of storage space or used for some special function. To get to it, one had to go into the building, pick the correct door out of about fifteen or so, go completely into that room and close the entry door to finally expose the hidden smaller door that nearly blended into the wall itself. One would not see the secret door by just opening the entry door and glancing in. The room was about twelve by twelve and had no other entranceway but had two four foot high windows starting about four feet up from the floor. The boys had wired up some cardboard sheets to serve as deflectors so if anyone was to look in the window, they could not see down to the floor, they could only see the ceiling. It was perfect.

### Chapter 9

Soon the evenings were getting chilly and the boys, when they worked on the trash truck, would have to wear sweatshirts. Mr. Jablonski wore long sleeved shirts and always had his handy leather jacket hanging in the truck dock area. One evening, the trash pick-up was complete and after watching Mr. Jablonski start down the winding lane that led out of the center, the boys headed for their room.

The building was quite unique, the boys thought, because it had been built into the side of a hill and designed so that the basement level was the main floor. The boys tried to picture what it must have been like for office workers sharing their entrance and office area with the trash truck and shipping & receiving docks. They could almost hear the click-clack of high heeled shoes and the smell of sweet perfume mixed with the aroma of ripe garbage. "Sometimes", Andrew once said, "we find some pretty weird things to think about. Do you think we are sick in the head?" "Of course we are, Bird-Brain, why do you think we are here?" Steven replied. Not to be outdone Andrew quickly said "Because we are not all there."

About half way down the exit road, Mr. Jablonski realized that he had left his jacket behind and it was getting cold, so he turned around and went back to retrieve it. As fate would have it, the room where Mr. Jablonski kept his coat, extra gloves, etc. was in a small locker room just inside the building where the boys' secret room was located. They did not see him turn around and leisurely wandered "home", as they had started calling their little room. As they were entering the building, Mr. Jablonski, was making the last bend in the road and thought he saw the boys going into the building. When he got inside, he saw one of the many doors in the main hallway closing. He went to see if it was the boys and what they were up to. When he opened the door and turned on the lights, he saw an empty room. He thought maybe his old, tired eyes were playing tricks on him in this dusky light. He turned the lights out, closed the door, donned his jacket got in the truck and once again started for the landfill forgetting that he thought he saw something. By the time Mr. Jablonski had opened the door to the room he thought he saw the boys enter, they were already getting comfortable in their room. They never saw him turn around and had no idea he had been so very close to catching them in a serious breach of The Center's rules.

A few weeks later, it was after Thanksgiving and before Christmas. The two teenaged boys had talked a lot about life in general and what it had to offer and decided that their lives were already doomed, thanks to a juvenile court system that had no concern for the kids that came into contact with it. Andrew's seventeenth birthday was coming up and Steven's was not far behind; under eighteen with lives forever sullied, ruined. They had been discussing alternative ways to end their sadness and the hopelessness they were feeling. They had developed a plan and this was the day they would put their plan into action.

Mrs. Ferguson had a plan too. There was a lot of work to do to get ready for the group Christmas party. She needed help from everyone. She noticed that Andrew and Steven were both missing and it was getting late. They had never been this late before. She asked some of the other kids if they had seen her two wayward charges; no one had. She had a bad feeling and called the Chief of Security. She explained that two of her kids were misplaced and she would like them to begin the search routine they use when kids were late getting back to the pod. The chief told her the Security Department would check and monitor the perimeter and send cars out to check the three roads leading away from the center.

The next call Mrs. Ferguson made was to the Director. She explained the problem and asked for help to search the grounds. The call went out from the Director's Office to all staff including any teachers who were still on campus, to assist in the search.

The boys looked at the pack of razor blades they had found earlier. Steven said, "I'm ready." "Me too," replied Andrew.

They removed their sweatshirts and used them for pillows as they lay down on the cold concrete floor. They each held up their left arms and using the razor blades in their right hands made identical slashes across their left arms. The blood began to gush and the boys locked their bloody arms and laid their young heads on the make shift pillows making sure they could see each other, so that the last thing they would see in this world would be each other's eyes. "I love you, Andrew", said Steven. "I love you, Steven" echoed Andrew. No nicknames this time.

Mr. Jablonski had returned from his afternoon trip to the landfill and was preparing to leave for the day when he saw all the commotion and asked one of the searchers what was going on. When he heard the story, he went looking for Mrs. Ferguson, he spotted and stopped her and said he may have information about where the boys were hiding.

He quickly told her the experience from a few weeks ago when he thought he saw the boys but missed them somehow. "Show me", she said and off she went with Jablonski and a few of the other searchers.

Jablonski showed her the door he thought he saw the boys go into; he opened the door and they all saw an empty room. Curious, Mrs. Ferguson walked into the room and the automatic closer began to slowly close the door. Before anyone stopped it, she saw the hidden door. She had a bad feeling when she pushed the door open. To her horror she saw the devastating scene on the floor and the mother wolf kicked. "Call two ambulances! Get the nurse out here! Someone help me quick!" Mrs. Ferguson was yelling. She rushed to the boys and knelt beside them and began using their sweat shirts to try and stop the bleeding. "Is there a first aid kit anywhere in this place?" she wanted to know even though her instincts told her these boys needed a lot more than a first aid kit. Soon others were there helping, "What have you idiots done?" she said to the motionless bodies lying in a pool of blood. "Please God, don't let these children die like this, please!" People started passing shirts, aprons, towels, anything they could find to try to stop the bleeding. Casper, The Center's nurse, arrived in just a minute or two. She started taping and wrapping the wounds but the blood seeped through as quickly as she could wrap them.

The boys were unresponsive, their bodies turning blue as their lives slipped away carried on a trickle of blood that would not be deterred. Anyone who saw the boys were sure they were gone. She tried using ammonia caplets to wake them; but to no avail. "Where are the god-damned ambulances", she yelled. Everyone stopped for a moment when they heard Casper yelling. She always spoke in a very soft even voice and no one had ever heard her use profanity. "They are both coming up the lane now," someone said. "Are they gonna make it?" Someone else asked.

The ambulances arrived and the attendants brought in stretchers and, with help from the Center's staff, got the boys loaded and ready to go. Casper grabbed one of the drivers and said, "If you are not going to drive any faster going than you did coming then get out of the way and we will drive the ambulances ourselves." The driver said "No problem ma'am, no one told us how urgent it was. When the ambulances pulled out of The Center's property, Mrs. Ferguson was in the lead and Casper was behind in the garbage truck. "If you slow down, I'll push you there and you can just steer." she had told the ambulance drivers as they were getting ready to pull away from the old admin. building. The ambulances arrived at the hospital in record time. To anyone looking, the convoy must have looked like some crazy stock car race. Nurses and doctors were waiting as the ambulances pulled in. In seconds, they were in the emergency room with doctors and nurses working feverishly to stop the bleeding; get new blood into their beautiful young bodies, and to save the lives of these two children.

Outside the emergency room stood about twenty people from The Center, some praying, some just holding each other, and off in one corner stood a giant of a man, all alone, openly and unashamedly weeping.

### Chapter 10

The boys laid side by side in a near coma state as the doctors tried to get their systems going. Their bodies had begun to shut down as their blood gushed onto the dirty, cold concrete floor they had chosen as their deathbed. Were it not for Mrs. Ferguson's concern for "her kids", two of them would have died before they ever had a chance to live.

The Doctors' hard work had paid off and the boys were both going to live. For now they were very weak and their bodies needed rest. The doctor had decided that the boys should be kept in a near coma state until the fourth day at least. By that time they should be strong enough to wake up. In the meantime, a vigil of sorts was maintained by the people who cared most for them, their family from The Center. The families of both Andrew and Steven had been notified but not a single member of their biological families had come to the hospital, or even called. Mr. Philips called each family every day with an update on their sons' conditions. He was having serious concerns about the family lives of these kids. "Damn", he thought to himself, "there must be thousands of kids, in this state alone, that are trying to survive family circumstances just like this; or worse."

There was no shortage of caring people checking in at the hospital. None of the hospital staff could remember another event like this one. Mrs. Ferguson was at the hospital for half an hour in the morning and evening. Mr. Philips was in and out several times during the day. Dr. Landon, Andrew's psychologist, spent about two hours a day with Andrew. Miss Clutter and even Mr. Jablonski visited at least once a day. Most of the other staff members visited when they could. Even the Director stopped in for a few minutes each day. The hospital staff was having a problem enforcing hospital visitation rules and finally gave up. They could see that their rules, and their efforts to enforce them, were a waste of time. No one paid attention when they tried to explain the rules. "Those two kids must be the most loved kids on earth," one nurse said to another one afternoon. The other nurse looked at the group of people waiting to get into the room and said, "They must be. Why do you think they did such a terrible thing to themselves?"

Dr. Ledderman had found a large chair in the hospital entry and moved it into the room and only left the hospital for an hour or two a day, time to shower and change clothes. He slept sitting in his big chair. He read to the boys, sure that they could hear despite their unconscious state. He caressed Steven's forehead, the only place that was both bandage and tube free. Periodically, he would do the same with Andrew. He was committed to making sure that when these two woke up, someone would be there, someone who cared about them and who loved them. When they woke up, he wanted them to know that their lives had value.

The hospital medical staff invited The Center's two Psychologists and the Social Worker to join them in planning when and how they would proceed with waking the boys up and their treatment after that. It was decided that the best plan would be to wake both boys up at the same time, one doctor at each bed, and that the best time would be on the morning of the fifth day at the hospital. The hospital doctors shared the entire set of medical charts as well as X-ray pictures with the three men from The Center.

An ironic twist that no one would ever tell the two young men lying so serenely in their hospital beds was that the pressure of the boys pressing their slashed arms together had caused the blood loss to be slower than what would be expected and probably saved their lives.

The time came to wake the boys up. The process was spread over a few minutes to avoid shock. Neither uttered a word as they slowly regained consciousness. When they were both fully awake and realized that they had failed to accomplish their goal, they both seemed like they were in a daze, wondering what came next. Since the boys' medical and emotional condition seemed stable, the staff stepped into the hall so that they could have a few minutes alone.

After a minute or two, Steven began softly sobbing, "I'm sorry Bird Brain. I am so sorry." Andrew, not knowing what the future held, whispered, "Me too Brainy Boy. I'm not sorry we failed, it must not have been our time, but I'm sorry I hurt you." "No, Andrew," Steven said with as much strength he had, "it was me that has caused all this pain, and the humiliation we are stuck with. I dragged you down." There was not enough energy left for more words.

Dr. Chandler, the attending physician, had decided to keep the boys for two more days, to make sure their physical wounds were healing and that they showed no signs of infection. He thought it would be prudent to have them here so that they could be observed around the clock without it seeming obvious.

The Director decided that the books, other than those from the library, the notebooks, binders, loose papers, and anything else generated by the boys were their personal property. He also decided that, due to the circumstances, the professional staff had a legal responsibility to search those items as part of the investigation into what was, for the time being, called an incident.

The two Psychologists and the Social Worker were assigned the task of conducting the investigation. During the course of that investigation, they had permission to speak with any employee or contractor of The Center. Employees and contractors had already been reminded of the confidentiality agreement they had signed in conjunction with their employment. Everyone wanted to help. No one worried about getting into trouble. This investigation was undertaken to determine how two of their kids had been so depressed, and how they hid it so well. Every staff employee and contract worker took it personally that they did not protect two of their kids and nearly lost them.

As the investigators sifted through the dozens of pages of written material the boys had produced, three things became evident; the boys had an insatiable thirst for knowledge; they had become very proficient writers, and they had a relationship that had yet to be unraveled and understood.

The pages had been read, sorted and reorganized during the first day and on the second day the panel asked Miss Clutter to join them, since she was the teacher that seemed to be closest to the boys. They asked her if she had known of any inappropriate relationship between Andrew and Steven.

Miss Clutter was honest, and somewhat remorseful, telling them about her feelings when she had read some of their assignments. She mentioned that she had made changes to her lesson plan to avoid assignments that would have her students writing about one another. She also told about the scene she had observed on the little rise just outside the old administration building and how moved she had been by it. "I can't help thinking that if I would have said something when I first had a feeling about them, none of this would have happened."

"Nonsense", said Dr. Landon. "None of this is in any way your fault." Dr. Ledderman added, "These are two deeply troubled boys who finally found someone who shared the same sad feelings of loneliness, feelings of inferiority and worthlessness. When they were together, those feelings disappeared and they were learning what it meant to have another person, just like themselves, in their lives, and it scared them."

Dr. Landon added, "In you, these boys found someone who trusted them, someone who had confidence in them, someone who encouraged them. You are one of a select few in whom they put their unconditional trust. Don't ever think you had anything to do with these boys hurting themselves; instead you opened doors for them, doors of learning and imagining what the world could be."

Dr. Ledderman passed her a small stack of papers, essays the boys had written and that had been found in their little hide-away. She began reading:

"I have only met one person in my life that made me feel loved, only one person who I loved.

"If the world should end tomorrow, I would enter into extinction, along with everyone and everything else, knowing I had loved and been loved in return, and that throughout eternity that fact will live on, no matter what becomes of me; or you.

"Alexander the Great, according to legend, when asked by the gods which attribute he would prefer, greatness or long life; he chose greatness. History bears out that he got his wish.

"When God asked me what I wished from life, I replied that, if even for one day, I could know and feel what it means, to love and to be loved, then I will have lived a life of satisfaction, and of greatness. Like Alexander the Great, my wish was granted."

She picked up the next.

"I fear for you. When other people look at you, they see danger, they see hardness, and they see a cold heart. They are blind.

"When I look into your eyes, I see into your soul. I see beauty, kindness, and I see gentleness, but all the things that make you wonderful remain hidden behind a solid wall that refuses to let the light of your goodness show through.

"I wish I could protect you. This world is hard and I fear it will hurt you and smash you into dust. I feel the pain and sadness that comes with every dart and barb, slung at you by those not fit to breathe the same air as you. My heart cries out as I am compelled, restrained by the ropes and vines of the jungle, to watch the wild animals tear chunks of flesh from you, never killing you, just causing pain that can never be eased, and which I am helpless to bring to a stop. Surely I have described hell."

"You are too beautiful for this world. The world will never understand you and they will never have the honor of knowing you; that is sad.

"That I have known you makes my life complete. In a million years I will never know the joy and the love I feel from sharing just one precious second with you."

She noticed that there are no names on the papers and no names ever mentioned in the prose. Had she not recognized the handwriting, she would never have known who had written which essay.

She chose another page and continued reading.

"Sometimes I lie awake at night and imagine what I wished the world to be. I try to determine what is important to me. I wonder what is important to others. I see the richness of the earth to be soil and water to nurture and sustain us. I envision the great purpose in life to be the pursuit of knowledge. Others, I think, imagine the richness of the earth to be the natural resources, oil, water, gold, copper, and the land itself, and the grand purpose to be the pursuit of those riches.

"While most people seek the wealth of the earth and spend the energy of their life for personal gain, I wish for freedom and knowledge and wisdom. My heart cries out for only two things, to love and be loved and to know God. In truth they are the same. I believe God equals love and love equals God. In my perfect world, I would have no need or desire to chase material wealth. My wealth would come from music, poetry and books, learning and sharing, and beauty and of working the earth so as to encourage her to give a portion of her bounty. I dream of and wish for a world where each of us is free to be what we may be.

"But alas, I know this world, the one we have been born to, has no use for those of us that dream of peace and of love and of brotherhood. The world, I fear, will extinguish the dreams and crush the dreamers".

She thumbed through the pages and randomly chose another and began reading.

"I read again the three beautiful words that provide proof that we exist; Cogito Ergo Sum, I think therefore I am. How simple and how perfect the concept. I wonder how Descartes came to that conclusion. I have read about his quest, about how he searched for something that would prove beyond question that he existed. But what process, what path led to such a profound verdict?

"Would we have come to another conclusion, or is this the only conclusion? Remember when we used to wonder if we were just characters in a drama, played out in some other being's mind. We once wondered if we, and the entire universe we live in, were just one atom of a giant tree leaf found in an even larger universe than our own. I'm not sure that Cogito ergo sum answers those questions.

"I wish we could live in a world we created in our own minds. We could dream it into existence then occupy it. Of course, if we did that, it would surely settle the question of our sanity.

"I don't believe the world we live in was the one intended by The Creator. Something must have gone wrong and perhaps He has given up on us and started over somewhere else. Surely He has the power to create worlds that would then function the way He had planned. If that is true, and I believe it is, how could we have gone wrong and why would He abandon us rather than fix us?

"I think He created our universe with an idea of what it should and could be, and then left us alone, with His ideas planted somehow into our brains, to fend for ourselves. Probably He will come back later to see how we have done, and maybe fix things then.

"Like Plato's story about the cave, I think we are not able to see everything and are left to interpret things based on what we can see. Someday, I hope, we will be led out of the cave and shown everything as it is."

She laid the paper down and looked around the room at the men watching her. She said, "First of all, in the twelve years I have been teaching, I have never observed this level of maturity and depth of emotion in students this young. The other thing I wonder about is how and when they developed such a keen understanding of Ancient and Modern Philosophy and of the principles of argument. My fellow students and I were not this far along until we were sophomores or even juniors in college,"

Mr. Philips responded, "Miss Clutter, we think these are two remarkable, albeit troubled, boys who have spent most of their young lives on their own, lost in their own musings and reading anything that led to an understanding of the thoughts and ideas they had at that moment. It is possible that the boys were poor students because the schools were so far behind them and they didn't want to wait for them to catch up."

Dr. Ledderman added, "We think that something you did, or the way you did something, flipped a switch and sent their minds into overdrive. It is certain, they felt you were a person who had earned their respect and whom they wanted to please."

"And don't think for a moment" Dr. Landon added, "that it was a bad thing. You must, as a teacher, wish you could supercharge every student to work as hard as these two."

"I wish" she replied in a voice just above a whisper, "I had been able to sense the magnitude of the hurt these two were hiding and been able to direct them to the help they needed.'

"You did." replied Dr. Ledderman in closing the meeting.

The group had decided to talk with Mr. Jablonski next. He may have a great deal of insight into the boys since he spent so much time with them while picking up the trash.

No introductions were needed, as everyone at The Center knew everyone else. There was no hierarchy like one would find in most organizations.

Dr. Ledderman began by explaining that they were searching for answers as to why the boys did this to themselves. He made sure that Jablonski understood that nothing he said would cause trouble for the boys, or for him.

Jablonski started, "These boys are good boys; always call me Mister. They always work hard; try to make my job easier. Many times tell me, 'stay in truck Mr. Jablonski, we can get it all'. They always have respect to everybody, no smart mouth like some. I wish I could know about that room, and then maybe this not happen."

Dr. Landon explained, as he would have to do with everyone they talked with, that they were not to blame for what happened. Jablonski did not have much to add to the search for understanding of what was going on in the boys' minds, except to note that some of the other kids would ask them if they were going to the garbage dump for lunch or called them maggot eaters. He reported that one day a group of kids were harassing them and Steven walked to the biggest boy there. He could not hear what was said but the bigger boy put his hands in front of him gesturing surrender and "backed away with his face looking like he had no blood."

The second day of discussions began with Mr. Boggle, the Science Teacher.

After some initial small talk, they asked Boggle some of the same basic questions that got each interview rolling.

Since he could not answer any of the questions directly, he said, "Let me just tell you, in my own words and in my own order, my observations about Andrew and Steven." There were nods around the table so he began, "Neither of the boys seemed engaged in class, which is the norm with kids in an institutional setting, no matter how good the institution is. I was surprised when I graded the first test and found two students with perfect scores, and even more surprised to see that Steven Cross and Andrew Chambers were those two students.

"I should make it clear that I am sometimes as detached as the students. I know that sometimes I am just going through the motions of teaching, sadly not so much different than a large section of teachers, no matter where they teach. After my surprise at the first test scores, I began to observe the boys to make sure they had not somehow cheated. I began calling on them more in class and began having weekly pop quizzes; in every case I was amazed at their performance. I found myself teaching just to the two of them and hoping the others could pick up part of the information.

"As you all know, I have been called 'eccentric' and 'the epitome of an absentminded professor'. Both are true. I have become, since the death of my wife, rather distant and try to avoid developing relationships. So, when one evening, I saw two figures standing, holding hands on the rise out by the old admin building, it did not register as something that should mean anything to me. It wasn't until the next week when I watched Andrew and Steven walking out of class that I realized that those were the two figures I had observed. I did not report it nor did I see the need for the harmless incident to be reported. Now I am less sure of my decision than I was at the time. Now I just feel emptiness and failure. I am not just a science teacher; I am someone who has the responsibility to look after the well being of the children who have been entrusted to me; to all of us. It is, perhaps, even more important in institutional settings like this, to be more engaged with our pupils than in a more traditional environment, to be the kind of teacher they probably never had, the kind of teacher that teaches to students; not to a lesson plan."

In all, the panel talked with over twenty people from The Center's staff. Not much new information was obtained. A few of the students were interviewed and none thought that there was anything inappropriate between Andrew and Steven. They did know, however, that there could never be two friends that would be closer than the two of them. They also agreed that Steven was a really nice guy, but you just knew never to cross him. You can tell that he could rip your head off your body and use it for a bowling ball if you pushed the wrong button. They agreed that he had the coldest stare they had ever seen. They also agreed that he would protect a friend to the death; he was the kind of friend everyone wanted.

### Chapter 11

Mr. Philips picked the boys up on a Thursday to take them back to The Center. They made small talk and thanked the hospital staff and then rode the elevator to the ground floor in silence. Philips had parked at the front door to the hospital so they just had a few steps to get in and be on their way. Mr. Philips was quiet, wanting one of the boys to start a conversation and letting it go in whatever direction they chose.

Andrew was first, after they had driven a couple of blocks. "Are we going back to The Hill now or will we be locked up somewhere until we are taken there?" Philips was stunned. Of all the questions he could have imagined; this was not one. "Is that what you guys think; that you are going back to The Hill?"

Steven answered, "Hell yes, what else would you do with a couple of screw ups? We are too young for the regular prison system."

Gaining a bit of his composure, Philips chuckled. "First thing; you are not a couple of screw ups. And you are not going back to The Hill. You are going back to your pod where everyone is anxious to see the two of you."

Now it was the boys who were stunned. Not knowing what else to say, Steven kind of grunted, "oh."

Andrew finally asked, "Will we be on some kind of detention somewhere off the pod?"

"Not at all guys; you are just going home from the hospital after being injured in an accident, because this is your home and we all are your family."

Again the boys were silent; Andrew looked at Steven, who just shrugged his shoulders. Neither was used to this kind of treatment, no lectures, no punishment, and no return to The Hill. They had a lot to think about.

Friday, Saturday, and Sunday were pretty uneventful but right after breakfast on Monday, Steven was summoned to Dr. Ledderman's office. Steven felt that facing the doc was going to be one of the hardest things he had done in his life. He found the door open and entered to find his doctor friend standing near his desk. He reached out his humongous hand to shake Steven's. From that moment on, Steven felt like things would, somehow, work out all right.

Dr. Ledderman shook hands with Steven and with his left hand held his shoulder in one of those symbols of bonding that one only understands as it occurs. The doctor motioned Steven to sit in his regular seat and he took his own and they were ready to begin where they left off a week ago. By all appearances, nothing had changed but deep inside Steven knew everything had changed; the world was now, somehow, different.

Dr. Ledderman tried to start the session, one that would prove to be long and tense, but Steven interrupted him.

"I heard", Steven said, "that you stayed in the room with Andrew and me the whole time we were unconscious."

Ledderman looked directly at Steven but said nothing. He had not expected to go down this road. He remained silent for what seemed an eternity.

Steven realized that his doctor was not going to say anything unless he was faced with a question, so he asked, "Is that true?"

Trapped, the doctor replied, "It is."

Steven asked, "Why?"

After a few long seconds his friend replied, "I thought someone should be there and I had the lightest workload so the group asked me to stay at the hospital for a few hours a day."

"Bullshit!" replied Steven, with a grin on his face, feeling smug that he had been able to turn the table on his doctor.

"I beg your pardon?" was the best he could come up with. He was not used to being the one answering the questions.

"You don't have to beg", said Steven, "but you could tell me why you work so hard to keep from admitting that you actually like me; that I am your friend as well as your patient."

Ledderman, for the first time since he and Steven had met, felt conflicted about his feelings for his young patient but decided to answer.

"OK, Steven," he said, "I will answer you, and then we get back to work. Agreed?"

"Yes!" was all Steven, who was now the one caught off guard, could say.

"As you know from some of our earlier conversations, and from the rumor mill, I had a very awkward situation as a child and as a young man. Because of my gift, I was never able to make friends. I was known as 'four-eyes' to some kids and 'blimpo' or 'egg-head' to others. I was an oddity. There were not a lot of kids graduating from college, when they should be in the seventh or eighth grade. I was too smart for the kids my age and too young for the young people with whom I attended college. So I was in my twenties before I had someone I considered a friend.

"I always knew what I hoped a friend would be, but was far too immature to understand how to make friends. My one friend and I keep in touch a little but he has a wife and kids and works for a company designing guided missiles. That's where I would probably be had I not decided to become a psychologist.

"In my work, I come in contact with people of all ages and from a wide slice of the population. I do not have a private practice. Most of the people I see are simply referrals for evaluations and I see them once or twice or rarely, three times. My main employer is the state, which pays me to do the thing I love, to help young people. Periodically, I run across someone who seems to stand out, in some way, from the rest of my patients. I like most all of my patients but I have never developed a relationship with any of them.

"From the first day we met, I knew you were different from any patient I had encountered, either as a student or a practitioner. You are honest, even honest about the things you refuse to talk about. You are engaging and can be deadly serious or seriously funny. You are smart, well into the genius range based on the standard testing that was administered shortly after you arrived here, but you are also what is known as 'street smart'.

"It was during our 'non-business' conversations that I realized that I enjoyed our conversations and that I liked you in a different way than I like my other patients. I meet few adults who can engage in conversation on a wide range of topics and are willing to be the teacher as well as the student. I like the way you show concern for the well-being of others and try to hide that fact. To sum this up in one succinct statement, I find that you display all the traits I thought one should find in a friend. Therefore, I do like you and I consider you a friend, but a friend distant enough that you can also be my patient."

Steven sat silent for a few moments, and then said, "Doctor Ledderman, among all of my peers, I have only two or three that I consider 'real' friends. I value their friendship. Of all the adults I have come to know, there is only one who I would trust to be my friend; that one is you and I hope you know I value and I am thankful for your friendship."

"Shall we get to work now?" his friend said and reestablished the Doctor-Patient relationship. Both would hold the last few minutes in their hearts forever.

After the usual back and forth about conditions in the pod and his general well being, Ledderman moved on to the subject that would consume the rest of the day and put their Doctor-patient relationship and their friendship on very precarious ground.

"Steven", the Doctor began, "would you be willing to share with me the reason or reasons that you and Andrew tried to do harm to yourselves?"

"It's pretty simple, doc.; no family, no friends, no funds, no future, no fucking anything. We will leave here and either return to The Hill or return to our families. Neither of the options seems ideal but if I have a choice, I will go home. At least there I can protect myself."

"And what will become of your friendship with Andrew?" the doctor wanted to know.

"Andrew is the best friend I have ever had or ever will have; no matter what happens, that fact will always be true."

"Steven, do you love Andrew?"

"Yes doc. I do."

"The next question is the most obvious in the list. Have you and Andrew been intimate?"

Steven jumped out of his chair like he had been shot out of a cannon, "What the hell did you just ask me? I don't believe you would ask me that. Not you, doc. You know me better than anyone but Andrew. I can't believe this. Do all you people think love means being 'intimate'?"

Dr. Ledderman sat back and let Steven explode and rant; he wanted him to get it all out of his system.

"Andrew and I love the same things; we see beauty in the same things; we love debating with each other; we love that we can learn on our own; we love looking at the sunset, and the sunrise; we love impressing our teachers because they usually think we are stupid; we love each other's company. And so, doctor, if that is considered being intimate, yeah we have been intimate!

"I can't believe you, of all the people on earth, would ask me that. I will make it clear for you; sex and love are not the same thing. Love is what Andrew and I have for each other; sex is when you fuck. We don't need each other for that, either of us could have a different girl to fuck every night of the week."

Steven slumped back in his chair, exhausted and frustrated. "Not you Doc., Not you too." he said, barely above a whisper as a tear formed in the corner of his eye.

Dr. Ledderman sat quietly and gave Steven plenty of time to compose himself.

"OK then, shall we move along", he said to Steven when it looked like he was ready. Steven just nodded.

"Steven, it is very important that you listen to me closely for the next few minutes. Do you understand?"

Steven thought it was a weird statement. He always paid attention. "OK doc. You have my undivided attention."

"Do you remember the first time we met in this office and I told you that nothing you said would ever leave here?

"Yes." Steven replied in a voice that belied the sick feeling he was suddenly experiencing.

"I told you at that time that there would be times when I would be required by law to report on certain things we discuss. Do you remember that?"

"Yeah, I remember. So is this where you drop the hammer on me doc?"

"In just a few minutes we will begin a short period of time when I will ask you certain questions. Those questions and your answers will be reported to several state law enforcement agencies. Do you understand what I have just told you?"

"Yes"

"OK, when we begin that session, I want you to sit up, answer me as clearly as possible and in a clear, controlled voice. I don't want you to be a smart-ass or to lose your temper. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Steven knew he had already dug his own grave by unloading on Ledderman, or for even trusting him in the first place.

The doctor told him that anything he said from now on would be reported to the appropriate state agency. He asked him again if he understood and he replied that he did. He couldn't understand why the doctor was telling him the same thing so many times.

"Steven, this session, beginning at 10:00 AM on (the date of the session), is part of the investigation into the incident involving you and Andrew Chambers in which the two of you apparently tried to take your own lives. I will be taking detailed notes as we talk and those notes will be part of the report that will be sent to the various state agencies as required by law. I expect you to be truthful and answer the questions to the best of your recollection. Do you understand these instructions?"

"Yes Sir." Steven decided he would be the perfect prisoner as the inquisition began.

"Steven, please tell me who decided that you and Andrew should commit suicide?"

"No one really decided, sir. We had talked about it for a few weeks and one day seemed as good as any other day."

"Did you decide what day the attempt should be carried out?"

"I told you, no one decided. We just did it."

"Who did the cutting Steven, you or Andrew?"

"What?"

"Who cut your arm? Who cut Andrew's arm?"

"Oh. Well we were going to cut each other but neither one of us could stand the thought of hurting the other so we each cut ourselves."

"I see. Who cut himself first?"

"I don't remember. That whole afternoon is foggy in my mind."

"Is Andrew Chambers a homosexual?"

"What? Are you crazy? "

"Young man, do not yell at me. I am not deaf. Just answer the questions." The doctor gave Steven a forced kind of stern look. Under any other circumstances, that would have funny. His was not a face that could look stern.

"Are you a homosexual?"

"What?" Steven caught himself and lowered his voice to avoid being chastised again. "Are you crazy?"

"Have you and Andrew Chambers had sexual relations?"

Steven was stunned. He and the Doctor had just covered this ground. He sat ready to explode when it hit him. He looked at Ledderman who surely recognized the look on Steven's face and gave the slightest nod; a nod that could mean, "Go on" or could mean, "I see you get it."

Steven straightened himself in the chair and composed his answer. He thought he knew what had just happened and if he was right, he would owe the doctor a debt that could never be repaid.

"No sir, I have never had sexual relations with another male and to the best of my knowledge, Andrew has never had sexual relations with another male."

"Is it true that you and Andrew Chambers are in love?"

"Yes, that is true." Steven spoke clearly and with purpose. "I love Andrew with all my heart, the way siblings should love each other; the way parents and children should love each other; the way we think our Creator supposes to love us and the way He expects us to love Him." Steven was on a roll now and hoped he was doing the right thing. "I can see that you think Andrew and I are in love and therefore we must have had sex. We did not."

To Steven, the doctor seemed more relaxed and hoped it was not just his imagination.

"When people are in love, don't they have sex with each other?"

"I told you", Steven spoke with renewed confidence, "that we were not in love that way. To the best I can remember, we never even talked about sex at all." Steven hesitated a moment, then added, "That's not completely true. We did talk about our sexual escapades prior to being confined. Both of us had active sex lives and we both thought we were too young to have had the kind of experiences that we did."

Dr. Ledderman sat back in his chair a bit and asked, 'Steven, why did you want to take your own life. I know you can't speak for Andrew; just tell me about your reason."

"I will try doctor," Steven said. "First on the list is that I am probably going to be sent back to the reform school soon. I will not survive there. Second is my family. I have a shitty life at home. Please pardon my bad language but I don't know any other way to describe it. You know the situation with my family. I am not sure I could survive the constant turmoil there," Steven continued. "I am not sure that I will be allowed to reenter my high school and even if I did, my reputation is probably way past the 'nasty' rating. I would probably be in trouble again in no time. No matter which way I turned, my life was ready to be washed down the drain. I just did not want to be hurt anymore, not physically and not emotionally." As he finished, he felt good about his answer; and he was becoming more confident that the doc really was a man to be trusted. He had made a mistake when he doubted that.

Ledderman moved along to the next question. "Steven, why were you incarcerated?"

Tears welled up in Steven's eyes and he had to catch his breath before he answered. He had not expected that question.

"I got in some trouble at school" was his answer.

"What kind of trouble Steven?"

The doctor knew where he was going but Steven was lost. It seemed like he was just along for the ride. He would try to keep his answers short. "I got caught cutting school a few times and I got in a hassle with one of the teachers."

"When you say you 'got in a hassle', exactly what does that mean?"

Damn it. We have never talked about it but the doc has read and he knows everything there is to know about me and why I am here, Steven thought to himself. He really did not want to do this, but he had no choice.

"I hit a teacher."

"Why did you hit a teacher?"

"OK, Doctor Ledderman, this is what I remember. First of all, I have the ability to listen, comprehend, and remember things while doing other things."

The doctor interrupted him and asked him, "What kind of things could you be doing while you were listening to something?"

"Almost anything but talking."

"Thank you," the doctor said, "Go on."

"I was in Biology class and the teacher was delivering his weekly lecture. One of the other students had given me some pictures she took at the football game the previous Saturday."

Ledderman interrupted again. "Were you in the pictures?"

"Yes."

"Why was the game on a Saturday night? Aren't they usually on Friday?"

"It was the state championship game."

"You said you were in some of the pictures. Did you play football?"

"Yes."

"And did you play in that game?"

"Yes"

"Thank you", the doctor said, "Go on with your explanation."

"I was listening to every word of his lecture. I was also looking at the pictures. He came down my aisle from the rear and when he got beside my desk, he grabbed the front of my shirt and dragged me out of my desk and was trying to pull me down the aisle. My right foot was caught but he kept pulling. When I finally got my right foot loose, my left foot caught on another desk and twisted it pretty good, but he kept pulling on me. I asked him to stop and I told him to stop but he just kept going. Finally I popped him. When he did not let go, I hit him again; hard this time. So, the result was my incarceration while he still roams the classroom."

"What kind of grade did you have in his class?"

"B"

"What about your other classes?"

"Including his class, I had three Bs and two As "

"Was the teacher hurt?"

"He had a black eye from the first time I hit him and I broke his nose when he would not stop."

"How did that get you committed to the correctional facility"? Ledderman wanted to know.

"I was expelled immediately and two days later my parents and I had to attend a meeting with the principal. When we arrived and were seated the principal, Mr. Lester, informed us that he had completed his investigation and had determined that I could no longer attend Aaron Burr High School. I asked him when I would be allowed to conduct my investigation. He informed me that he is the only person permitted to conduct an investigation. I asked him if he was going to bring in his witnesses so that I could question them and he got very angry. He said, 'I told you that only I conduct investigations here and no, you will not be able to question witnesses and don't even ask if you can present witnesses of your own because you can't. It is that attitude that has you in the position you are in now. You would be wise to run your mouth less and show some respect for authority.'

He said the case is closed and that I was permanently expelled from school. He then started lecturing my parents about parental responsibility and how it was their fault I was in trouble.

I just exploded and told him that anything he had to say was to be said to me. I told him that he was in no position to accuse my parents of anything; he did not even know them or anything about them. I told him that a whole boatload of Lesters could not measure up to my parents. After that he got real snotty like his shit didn't smell. He said 'Very well, Steven, you are expelled and may never again be allowed to attend Aaron Burr High School. Please tell your parents that since you are under the age of eighteen and not in enrolled in school as required by law that the Juvenile Authorities will be contacting them soon about that situation. As for you, I'm sure that those authorities will be picking you up for being a delinquent. Do you understand all that?'"

"I told him that we understood his babble and he said the meeting was over and dismissed us like he was some Overlord or something. I let my parents go out of his office first; then I went back into his office and told him to never ever talk to my parents like that again and that if he did and I ever caught him somewhere outside of school that I would give him an ass kicking like he could not imagine. I said 'Now the meeting is over; you are excused' and I walked out to where my parents were and we went home."

Full of questions, Dr. Ledderman asked, "What happened to the teacher?"

"Nothing. He got his nose fixed and I went to jail."

Ledderman remarked, "I thought you didn't like your father? You certainly stuck up for him. Why is that?"

"He had no authority to talk to my parents, or any parents, the way he did. He talked down to them like they were dirt and they did not deserve that. My parents and I live on different planets but I can tell you that I would never talk to my parents like that. We don't really like each other but that is our affair and I never cross the line with them when we have disagreements."

"I see," the Doctors replied. "What other charges did you face when you went to Juvenile Court?

Just that I had cut school about ten times but the Juvenile Officer said that we, he and I, had resolved that problem so I don't think that was used against me."

"What else? Were there any other charges?" Ledderman asked as he continued writing in his notepad.

"No Sir that was it", Steven said, as he realized that the doc was trying to get this information in the record. He thinks I got screwed, Steven said to himself. He wanted to smile but didn't. He decided to hold that smile for another time.

"Do you have any comments or any other information that you think should be part of this investigation?"

"Just that I am sorry for all the trouble I have caused. Everyone here has treated me great and I let them all down." Steven sat with his head hanging, wishing for all the world he had died in that little room.

"Thank you, Steven, for your cooperation."

Still in his formal mode, Dr. Ledderman continued. "This concludes the official fact-finding session with Steven Cross, conducted by Dr. Thomas Ledderman on (date) at The Diagnostic Center."

As quickly as he had become the formal investigator, Ledderman stepped back into his role as Steven's personal Psychologist and friend. He looked Steven in the eyes and in a voice filled with apprehension for Steven's future and sadness at the thought of losing his young friend, he spoke, ignoring the tears that were slowly rolling across is soft, corpulent cheeks.

"I don't know what happens from here Steven, but I know you are strong enough to put this whole past year aside and build a life that everyone you know will envy. I have enjoyed our talks and, even if this is our last session, I will remember with affection the time we have spent together, teaching and learning from each other. Your case, and more importantly, you, will remain with me forever."

Steven spoke through the lump in his throat. "Doctor Ledderman, I am smart enough to know that you, as my Psychologist and me as a troubled young man who you were supposed to be analyzing and helping, should never have developed the relationship we have enjoyed over these past several months. Regardless of that, you are the most caring person I have ever known. You have taught me what friendship really means, and you have given me a hero; someone I want to be like. I know that over the years, however many I will have awaiting me, I will make friends, I will meet people who I will admire and who will influence me, and who I would like to emulate. For however long I live, you will remain in my heart and in my memory. I will always cherish the friendship you have given so freely and I will always feel proud that you have considered me a friend." He decided to leave it at that, there was nothing else to say and he was close to crying.

They sat for a few minutes while each regained his composure; finally the doctor stood. Steven took that as a sign the session was over and stood and the two shook hands and hugged; the first time in Steven's mind that he had hugged or been hugged by an adult man.

### Chapter 12

Three weeks later, Andrew and Steven were called into a meeting in the Directors Conference Room. They were seated facing the director. To the sides of the Director sat Dr. Landon, Dr. Ledderman, Mr. Philips, and two men and one woman from the state office who were responsible for the operation of The Center. The Director introduced everyone including the two boys so that everyone had heard each other's names.

The Director spoke. He would be the only one to speak during the meeting except for the boys' responses to the questions he asked.

"Andrew Chambers and Steven Cross", he looked at each of the boys, "this meeting has been convened to discuss the recent incident in which the two of you attempted to take your own lives. As you know, The Diagnosis Center was opened to conduct scientific analysis, through conversations with Psychologists and Social Workers and through the use of certain types of testing all with the goal of trying, to the best of our collective abilities, to determine why essentially good teenage and preteen age young men and women get into serious trouble at a very important period of their lives. We hope to use the information we glean, from the participation of some of those young men and women working with our staff, to develop programs that may help young people, like the two of you, to avoid trouble, to divert the energies that caused you to get into trouble to more constructive efforts and activities."

Steven looked at Andrew and saw that he was thinking the same thing he was, "What the hell!"

The Director continued, "Every one of those involved in The Center feel a shared sense of guilt that we did not see signs that the two of you were so severely depressed that you would want to take your own lives. For that we offer you our most sincere apology."

The Director paused and drank from his water glass before he continued. "As you are well aware, the courts sentenced the two of you to the Boys Correctional Facility for an undetermined length of time. By law that time could last until your eighteenth birthday. The courts have agreed to set aside those sentences under certain conditions and to expunge those convictions providing you agree to and abide by the conditions that we will outline here."

Steven could not believe it; they were not going back to the Hill. He wondered how bad the conditions were going to be.

"The Director continued. "The State's Attorney General has reviewed several cases, including yours. That office will be addressing the abuse of the system by some Juvenile Authorities and the courts. I am sure they will be in contact with you, and your families."

All Steven could do was yell "WOW" to himself when he heard that.

"Within a short period of time you will be returning to your homes and families. The conditions I mentioned earlier will go into effect when you leave here.

"Andrew, Steven, the two of you are not to contact each other by telephone, or written correspondence or by personally meeting once you are discharged from The Center. You are not to discuss any of the methods employed here nor the events that occurred culminating in your suicide attempt. These conditions will be in effect until your eighteenth birthday.

"Do you understand these conditions?"

The boys protested for a short time but realized their protests were falling on deaf ears. They could see that the people in this room had not set the conditions. Finally they agreed.

The two boys agreed to meet at a little stone wall near the trash dock the day they were discharged. The officials had agreed to give them thirty minutes to say good-bye.

They did that; they met, and they said good-bye. For Steven, it was a moment he would carry with him for life. In the few short months since he arrived at The Center, he had known great friendship. He had experienced love on the grandest scale, and he now felt pain so intense that throughout his life, just the mere passing thought of these few minutes of farewell would burn as if a red hot poker had been driven through his heart.

### Epilogue

A cool breeze barely kissing the back of his neck woke the old man from his thoughts and as his mind slowly returned to consciousness of the world around him, he realized that the sun was nearing the western horizon where it would soon dip into the unknown and that a blanket of darkness, dimly lit by millions of stars, would soon descend upon him and transform the landscape and his perception.

He knew he should leave soon or the walk to his car would be a long, dark one. He hesitated to leave. He thought "maybe if I stay here I will just dry up and be carried on the wind to wherever the wind goes."

He tried hard not to have these nostalgic journeys into the past because the memories, both good and bad, always left him with a feeling of emptiness that nothing would ever fill and of a hunger that nothing would ever sate. Steven fought off the little catch in his throat that always accompanied his memories. After all these years he still became emotional when he thought about how thankful he was for the people who had helped him when he was a "troubled teen"; people who probably saved his life and gave him hope. But most of all he remembered Andrew.

He smiled as he thought about the concern so many people had that he and Andrew had been homosexuals and had wondered if we had engaged in homosexual relations. Our refusal to discuss the subject likely stoked the fire of inquiry that had never been extinguished. Had they known the truth, they would have been shocked. "How they would have stood in disbelieve if they knew that Andrew and I had personal contact, other than in gym class and the like, exactly four times. We kissed once, we held hands once and we hugged twice, once in our little room and once when we said goodbye. Of course, if one included the time when our left arms cradled each other as we waited for our last breath; that would be five. Never once did sex cross our minds; we loved in a very different way."

He looked into the sinking sun and spoke: "I have loved and been love by two wonderful women. I have met hundreds of different characters during the years of my education and my career; some I have even called friend. Countless people have either directly or indirectly touched my heart. But there has never been a day or an hour of my life that a corner of my heart has not cried out, 'I love you Andrew Chambers.'"

The old man stood and though a little wobbly, started down the path to the parking lot. He stopped and looked back at his recent perch on the hillside and swore he saw Andrew.

"I love you Andrew, even so Bird Brain, indeed it's time to go.

Two thousand miles away, an old man sits, slowly rocking in an antique rocking chair that he had rescued from one of his neighbor's trash heap. As he watches the beginning of another beautiful autumn sunset, the sun seemed to notice him and stop. He would swear that, for just a moment, the sun stared at him as if it were seeing an old friend. As quickly as it had stopped, it continued its descent into the peaks of the mountains that blocked the far off horizon. He softly spoke, "I love you Steven Cross. I wish we could have spent our lives together, but they made us go. So once again, as much as it hurts Brainy Boy, indeed, its time to go."

The end
