The Hurt Patrol (16 page)

“Which is true.” Beau looked over at me. “I didn't.”

“Then what happened?”

“Nothing. After a little while, I left. We didn't tell the counselor, not then.”

“No, I mean, when the others found out.”

“Yeah, more bad stuff. Pete was pissed.”

“Oh, no!”

“He never really got over it—not the being gay part, the letting Jewels take the charge part.”

They'd bumped into each other at the gas station accidentally, Pete and Beau, when they were both getting gas. It was such a small town it was bound to happen eventually. Beau hadn't really spoken to Pete in person since his big admission to Jewels. They'd texted and seen each other online, but not IRL. He was just putting the gas cap back on when Pete pulled into the pump beside him.

“Hey, stranger.”

Beau looked up from what he was doing. He jumped. He could feel his ears start up.

“Hey!” He couldn't believe how glad he was to see Pete.

Pete got out of the car slowly. He didn't move toward Beau.

“How's things?” He spoke almost hesitantly and shoved his hands in his pockets.

His tone was unmistakably weird.

Beau felt all the wind go out of his sails. He had been afraid of exactly this. He had never felt uncomfortable around Pete in all the time he'd known him. Till that moment.

“Good,” Beau replied, suddenly tongue-tied and sad. “How's . . . um, everyone?”

“Jules is good,” Pete said unflinchingly. “She doesn't need to see that shrink now.”

His tone and face were both reproachful and forbidding. Beau felt devastated.

“Pete, I'm so sorry, I—” Beau stopped. He didn't have anything to say that would make what he did seem different.

“You don't have to be, it turned out okay.”

“I was just too scared to mess things up.”

“Yeah, that's what Jules said. She explained it to me. I dunno . . . I gotta say, Beau, I was hella pissed off. I still am. I don't care if you're gay, but it's unbelievably messed up how you let Jewels take the charge. What if she'd gotten so sad she killed herself? Dude!
Beau!
You should have seen her. She was, like—unreachable, after a while! It was just so awful!” Pete started to get vehement and then controlled himself. The corners of his mouth jerked down against his will.

Beau hung his head. He wished he could just disappear into the molten core of the earth. He stood, feeling low-down and no-good, slumping and dejected. He could feel tears rising.

Pete looked around and then shrugged. He sighed.

“It's okay, dude,” Pete said, his voice heavy. “I know you didn't mean any of this . . . but I really can't hang out anymore.”

Beau wished Pete had punched him in the gut. It would have hurt less. But he nodded.

Then Pete looked straight into his eyes.

“For now, anyway. It's not forever, Beau. Who knows? Life is uncertain. Maybe we'll all be tight again someday,” Pete said, trying to make it sound casual. “But for now I need to take a break.”

“Yeah, sure, of course,” Beau replied, tears making his voice tight. He, too, fought to control himself.

Pete saw his expression. He stopped what he was doing and came around to Beau finally. He put his arms around him in a huge bear hug. Beau returned the hug, choking on his woe as Pete squeezed him. And this time it was a punch to the heart.

Pete spoke into his ear.

“Love you, Buddy.”

“So yeah. That's was kind of it for us.”

“Oh, no!”

“I know . . .” Beau's expression is sad and blue. So are his eyes. “I totally miss them.”

“Oh, why?” I mourn, like I actually knew Pete. “How sad is that?!”

“Right? After that he unfriended me. Jewels too.”

“Oh, Beau . . .” I murmur.

I see Beau is hurt, and I feel so bad for him, though I also kind of feel that it's not fair. “So, you're the bad guy.”

“Oh, it gets worse. I'll hurry before it gets too stupid to believe and wrap this up. So, of course it gets out around school, and it's like a holiday for dickheads! They are so gunning for me. . . .”

And of course they caught him.

No matter how cunning and tricky and well prepared you are, if they are hunting you, well . . . you get caught.

Beau was walking along in broad daylight when four guys pulled up and jumped out of their car, leaving it running. “Hey, Fag! How's things, Fag?” all faux-friendly. Beau started backing up to run, but of course they outnumbered him, as they will, every time, and everyone started pounding.

Beau included. All of his dad's self-defense paranoia paid off, and he did okay. He figured he wouldn't make it easy for them. He was enraged. But he was getting the worst of it, that's for sure. When a police car pulled up short without warning, spinning sideways to block the getaway car, Beau thought it was a good thing. Two cops jumped out, guns drawn, and started screaming. The douche bags were too stupid to scatter effectively, and three were caught by the cops, while Beau sat up dizzily, gagged briefly, and spat blood.

They slammed them over the back of the cop car, including Beau. After everyone got frisked and questioned, the cops let the other guys go with a warning, and put Beau in the back of the patrol car. He was afraid he was going to juvie or something, but they said they just wanted to go for a ride, to talk and try to maybe straighten him out. They just wanted to talk.

“So what were you and your little friends doing back there?” asked the thickest cop, riding shotgun, as Beau sat slouched against the door in the backseat. He was dizzy, and his head was throbbing. One eye wasn't seeing too well.

“They aren't my friends,” he managed to spit out.

“Maybe they are,” said the driver, a buzz-headed cop, “maybe they're doing you a solid.”

Beau looked at him in the rearview mirror. The cop's eyes were like black zeroes boring in on him. He was more than your average cop, sworn to protect and serve—he was judge and jury too!

“Ya think?” asked the other cop, his straight man (so to speak). He was wearing reflector sunglasses, like the Terminator. Except he was just a sidekick.

“Yeah, I think they were trying to save him from a life of being a little sissy.” Buzz-Head barked out that fraught word from Beau's childhood. Beau's nausea increased exponentially. He gagged and coughed. The cops exchanged meaningful glances. “See? Kinda makes everyone sick to think about—you acting that way—even you.”

“Yep. A lot of guys want other guys to man up when they see them acting all gay and eeewww.” Terminator flapped his wrists in the air, in a manner beloved by homophobes everywhere. “Eeewww!”he lisped viciously, pouncing up and down on his seat and thrashing like an ill-tempered emu.

Beau, already nauseated, looked at him without expression, but with inward confusion, as his thoughts raced and his aching gut throbbed.
This sucks
. . .
this is what happens when bullies get older but never grow up. I thought cops were supposed to be fair
. He always just supposed they were, anyway, in spite of the horrible stuff on TV and the news. He'd never actually dealt with cops before. But he had far more immediate worries.

“I feel really bad, you guys,” he gasped. “I think I'm gonna get sick!”

“Oh, for chrissake—don't you dare! Dick—grab him before he pukes all over the back!” Buzz yelled. He tried to push Beau out, himself, while driving and remotely rolling down the back window, at the same time.

Dick, aka the Terminator aka Ol' Spazzy Jazz Hands, turned and stuffed Beau halfway out the side window of the backseat—just as Beau hurled—and barf spewed
everywhere—
inside and out, spraying the back like a fire hose, also out the car door window, across “serve” and down the road, leaving a wake.

“EEEWWWWW!” screamed Terminator, this time in earnest, “GRROOOOOOSSS!” He let go of Beau and wiped his hands as Beau, half-conscious, hung out the car door window.

“STOP SCREAMING!” screamed Buzz-Head. “For gawdssake, DICK! Pull his HEAD back IN!”

Beau felt like he was dying. He was spinning and woozy as they slung him around, and his head was splitting. Also, he was thirsty. But they were getting farther away . . . all the noise was . . .

“. . . don't feel good . . .”—Beau slurred—“go . . . home.” He shut his eyes.

“I don't know, cream puff; can you?” Buzz squalled nastily. Beau just kept his eyes closed. No point. He remained on his side across the backseat of the cop car. This, too, shall pass....

“It's not like we don't have your best interests in mind, pal,” continued Buzzy, trying a new tactic. “We just don't want to see you ruin your life.”

“Yeah, or your parents' lives. It looks bad on them too,” added the Terminator. “It's not just your choice.”

They waited to hear how Beau would take this wisdom. When there was no reply, they resumed.

“It's pretty selfish.”

“Even if you do have those . . . impulses . . . you can get help.”

“Yep. There are places that can fix you. Or at least stop you, before you turn other guys gay.”

Far away . . . through translucent lids, Beau dreamed of a better place. One where the only cops were good cops, and clowns couldn't wear uniforms . . . far away . . . then there was an earthquake as he heard them shaking someone.

“Hey!” (Shake!) “PETUNIA!” (Wham-wham, shake-shake!) “HEY! Don't pass out on us here!”

“Okay, let's get him home.”

“Or the hospital. Whadaya think? Should we take him there?”

“No, that'd look bad, like if we thought he needed to go to the hospital why didn't we take him there right away?”

“Yeah . . . okay. Hey, kid—sit up!” The Terminator shook him again.

“Make him wake up.” Buzzy's voice was worried.

“Yeah, duh; I'm trying—
hello,
kid?!
Hey!
Suck it up, Buttercup, and tell us where you live!”

Beau managed, eventually, to remember his address, and they pulled up beside his dad's car. Beau, who was lying on the seat of the patrol car, struggled to sit up, and as he did he saw the curtain open and shut. His dad had seen.

As they hauled him out of the car, Jason opened the front door and stood impassively in the threshold.

“He belong to you?” asked Buzz.

“What'd he do?” asked Beau's dad.

“Got himself noticed—in the wrong way, I'd say,” Buzz answered, as the Terminator nodded.

“Okay, I got it from here, officers,” Beau's dad said brusquely. He put some stink on the word “officers.” He was pissed at their smirks.