What is it about capital cities, anyway? Whenever you see a picture of one it's always bright, shining – looking as though it had just been built last week. But see it in person and for the most part it's dingy, shabby, and run-down in appearance. Salem, Oregon was no different than the rest.

That's where I lived, and that's where I'd been able to get a scholarship. Well . . . half scholarship, half charity. I was an orphan. That was a relatively recent development. Father had been involved in an automobile accident, and Mother had decided she couldn't live without him. A part of the note she'd left read, "I'm sorry to leave you like this, son, but you are now old enough to take care of yourself. I hope you can forgive me, and that you find someone who means as much to you as your father does to me."

I wonder if she knew I'm gay.

Father's life insurance had been quite good and had included burial benefits, but of course insurance companies don't pay out for suicide, so I'd had to dip into the proceeds of his insurance to bury Mother. There wasn't much left afterwards, so I'd decided that when I started college this fall that I'd rent the house out and live on campus. Only when I went to sign up for a room, I found that they were all taken. I'd have to try to find someone close to the college who was willing to rent out a room.

Perusing the bulletin board outside the housing office, I took note of three places that I thought I could afford, if I also got a part-time job.

It was only politeness that kept me from sneering at the first one when I saw it: a basement apartment that almost looked like it had been flooded and never cleaned: and smelled like it, too. I never got to the third one, although I'm not quite sure why. Well, actually, I do know: two reasons. But everything in its own time.

The ranch-style house, which was the second on my list, needed a coat of paint and looked a little neglected, but it seemed to be in pretty good repair otherwise. The whole neighborhood was in similar straits.

The woman who answered the door, who was supposed to be a Mrs Clara Smith, looked to be in her early forties and was obviously drunk, although not severely so.

"Yes?" she slurred.

"Um . . . You have a room for rent?"

"What's it to ya?"

"I'm looking—"

"Ya want ta see it?" she interrupted.

Apparently the two brain cells that weren't currently under the influence had decided to speak up. As for seeing the apartment, at this point I wasn't so sure, but I nodded my head, anyway.

"Well, come on, then," she said, turning and making her way deeper into the house.

She hadn't opened the screen door for me, and I kind of felt like I was intruding as I opened it and followed her, despite her invitation.

The inside was quite a contrast. Considering the woman's inebriated state, I'd expected the house to be dirty, messy, and smelly. It was just the opposite, and very fashionable – if we'd been living in the late nineteen-eighties. But even though the furniture was a bit worn, you could tell it had been cared for.

The deliberately 'rough-hewn' wood mantle over the fireplace was almost overflowing with pictures of her family; although judging from her appearance in the photos, the newest had been taken a few years ago. They depicted a family of five, although few of the photos were group shots. They were of her, her husband, and three beautiful boys.

"What are yuh – a snoop? Maybe I don't want ta rent to yuh after all."

I hadn't realized that I'd been staring at the photographs long enough for her to come searching for me.

"Sorry," I told her.

"You have a beautiful family," I added, hoping to repair the situation.

"They're dead," she said flatly. "All except my oldest."

Well. This was awkward . . . Kind of explained her drunken state, though, if she'd never got over their loss. I wondered how long that would take, since I'd just lost family members too, not that long ago. I still thought I was handling it better than she was, though.

"Oh," I said lamely, and then fell silent. After all, what could you say to something like that? Sure, I could offer my condolences, but I'm sure they'd be meaningless to her. After all, I never knew them, and had just met her.

She stood there staring bleakly at the pictures for a long moment and then shook herself, as though literally shaking off the memories.

"Well, come on, then," she said tersely, again turning and leading the way.

It turned out to be a garage apartment made from a two-car garage, but very well done for all that. It had two smallish windows that let in natural light, light oak paneling, and a beige carpet with a very thick pad under it so that you almost felt like you were sinking into it. A double-wide bed, a small desk and chair, a book shelf and a short couch with a small coffee table in front of it rounded off the furniture. There was also a small 'kitchen' area that had a small refrigerator, sink, and an electric, two-burner cooking unit.

"You'll need to share our bathroom, shower, and clothes washer, and you can use the oven if you need it," she said. "I'll clean in here for an extra fee, otherwise you're on your own."

"Mom, I'm home!" called out a tenor voice from the main house.

"In here, Cole!" she called back.

"How much?" I asked her.

"Two-fifty a month, due by the fifth," she replied.

Well the price was right, and the place was livable, but...

"Oh! Sorry. Didn't know you were showing the place," the tenor said from the doorway.

I looked toward the door, and caught my breath. There in the doorway was one of the beautiful boys from the photographs, only several years older. He looked like he was about fourteen or fifteen, five foot three or so, longish dark blond hair that was looking kinda windswept, and deep blue eyes. He was on the slender side of a normal build from what I could see, although like most boys his age the clothes he was wearing were about ten sizes too large.

Not that I'm that much older, at almost nineteen. But my folks hadn't let me dress like 'a street punk' as they put it. I didn't have to dress up all the time, but my clothes had to fit.

I became aware that he was staring at me at about the same time I also became aware that I'd been looking at him too long.

He must have come to the same conclusion, because he blushed a deep red and said, "I – I just . . . Um . . . I . . . ." Then he turned, and fled.

"Hmph!" I heard beside me. "How old are you, boy?"

"What? Oh. Um . . . Eighteen: almost nineteen."

"Uh-huh. Yer a queer-boy, ain'tcha?" Mrs Smith said shrewdly.

"Huh?" I didn't know whether to panic and lie, or just panic and walk out while trying to maintain some dignity. I think the main point there is that her observation had thrown me into a panic, and I was desperately fighting myself for control.

"Oh, don't worry 'bout it, boy! Lotsa my drinkin' buddies are queer. Good people, most of 'em."

"Been wonderin' 'bout my boy," she continued thoughtfully, almost without pause, and looking at the now-empty doorway. "Guess that question's answered."

She just said she was pretty sure her son was gay – right? But her pause left me hanging in mid-air. What the hell was I supposed to say to that?

"I need a drink," I heard her mutter.

Personally, I thought that was just about the last thing she needed.

"Well," she said out loud, turning her attention back to me, "I hope yer not a player, boy. You can move in any time. First month's rent, and two hundred dollars deposit."

What? Did she . . . ? She didn't, did she? Did she just give me permission to pursue a relationship with her son? But he's hardly more than a child, and I don't even know him! Yeah, he's pretty, but...

"You got the money, don'tcha?" she asked suspiciously, breaking into my musings.

Huh? Oh. Right. Rent. Four-fifty, right? Two-fifty a month. Do I even want to rent this space? The price is good – won't eat too much into the rent from my parents' house . . . And that intriguing eye candy that just ran out of here . . . Too young, of course, but . . . Or was he?

"I can write you a check," I heard myself saying, "or I can get you cash tomorrow."

Which head made that decision?

She eyed me like she was reading my soul, and then gave a careful nod. "I'll take yer check. Give ya a receipt."

She wandered into the main house and into the kitchen, weaving only occasionally, with me following right behind, fishing my checkbook out of my belt pack.

She gathered up some paper and a pen, and we sat down at the kitchen table.

"Do ya want the cleanin' service?" she asked, pen poised.

I looked around. The kitchen was spotless, much like what I'd seen of the rest of the house, so she did a good job.

"Yes, please," I said.

"'Nuther hunnerd a month," she warned.

That sounded like a lot until I broke it down in my head. Twenty-five dollars a week wasn't that bad. Not if she did as thorough a job as she did her own place. And like most males, I didn't do 'cleaning up' very well.

"I think I can manage that," I assured her.

She started writing, but stopped almost immediately. "What's yer name, boy?" she asked, sounding perplexed.

I know I was blushing, at that. We'd never introduced ourselves to each other. I was totally embarrassed. I knew who she was, but...

"Luke, ma'am. Luke Tannin."

"Clara Smith," she said, by way of introducing herself.

She started writing again, and so did I. I finished writing the check and slid it over to her. She looked it over to make sure the amount was right and all the details were filled in, then her eyebrows went up a bit.

"You the son of that rich guy that died awhile back?" she asked.

"He died, but we weren't exactly rich," I protested. I wondered what on that check . . . Oh. The address: in the 'upscale' section of town. "He liked to give that impression, but—"

"How come you ain't livin' with yer mother?"

"She's dead, too," I said, not elaborating.

"Huh!" she grunted, mulling over what I'd said. "Lost the house, then?" she inquired.

"No, ma'am. I'm renting it out to make the mortgage payments." I'd actually turned the house over to an agent to handle. He had advised me to charge twenty-two hundred bucks a month, plus two thousand dollars damage/cleaning deposit, and it already had a waiting list. The rent was almost twice as much as the mortgage and insurance payments put together, plus the agent's commission. They were just waiting for me to move out.

The rent and cleaning charge here would take quite a chunk out of what was left, but there was still more than enough enouugh money left to buy food, gas, and pay car insurance. I still needed to get a part-time job though, in order to pay for books and being able to go out and have some fun. Anything left over would go into an account to pay for repairs and upkeep on the house, as needed.

Mrs Smith nodded sagely. "What I'm doin', rentin' out that room," she said. "Helps make ends meet."

I suddenly felt better about that extra hundred dollars a month for cleaning services. I just hoped she wouldn't drink it away.

I looked around some more while she finished writing what now looked to be a rental agreement, and caught a glimpse of a head of dark blond hair being pulled out of sight beyond the doorway to the living room. Was the boy sneaking looks at me? What had she called him? Cole? That was it.

I kept my eyes on the spot where I'd seen his head disappear, and waited. Sure enough, about fifteen seconds later he peeked around the doorframe again. I smiled at him. When he saw me looking he blushed again, but returned the smile before coming fully into sight.

He'd changed his clothes and was now wearing a pair of close-fitting, short denim shorts, and a net shirt. I had been right about his build. Cole pretended to ignore me as he went to the refrigerator.

"What's for eats, Mom?" he asked.

"Hm? Oh. Some cold chicken's in there," she replied absently.

"So you're going to be living- Um . . . Renting the garage apartment?" Cole asked me with his head in the 'fridge.

"Looks like it," I replied, grinning at his dissembling and admiring the view of his ass as he was bent over into the fridge: then wiped the expression from my face when I saw his mother looking at me from the corner of her eye.

She gave me a sly smile and a warning look, shaking a finger at me. It took me a second, but I finally interpreted that as 'I'm amused with you, but be careful with my boy'. I tried to reassure her wordlessly, but damn! I'd only said three words to him so far! I had no idea if there was anything there but some mild sexual interest!

Oh.

Well, likely nothing would come of it anyway.

Aw, who was I kidding? If the clothes he had changed into were any indication, he was trying to get me interested in him – and he didn't know I was gay!

"Cool," he had said in the meantime. "Gonna need any help?"

I considered it. "Might," I finally admitted. "I have a few things I need to move from my par- From my old place." Like a television, stereo, game system, and the furniture to put it on. I wouldn't be able to bring much, though; there wasn't much room left in the room I'd be renting. I hoped Cole hadn't caught my little slip, there. The folks had only been dead about six months, and it still hurt when I thought about it.

"I'm Luke, by the way," I said, introducing myself. "Luke Tannin."

Wow! I'd just got home from hanging out with the guys, and walked in on Mom showing this guy the garage apartment. Holy shit, he was hot! My guts and balls were in knots over him as soon as I saw his face. And he caught me staring at him! How embarrassing! I hope he didn't figure me out.

But I think he might've been looking, too. I hope so. Just on the off chance, I decided to show off the ol' bod to him. I didn't have much that would do that, most of my stuff being the baggy stuff everyone else wore, but I did manage to scrounge up an old pair of short shorts. They kinda cut into my crotch a little, but that made my package stand out pretty good, too. A shirt was more of a problem, but I had a net shirt that would do the trick. It was still 'way too big, but you could kinda see through it, so it served the purpose.

They had moved to the kitchen by then, but when I was going to go in and introduce myself, I lost my nerve. I just started taking quick looks at him around the edge of the doorway. He was writing a check, and Mom was writing something, too. Maybe they were making a deal on the garage apartment? Cool. Maybe I didn't have to do it right now. I'd have some time.

But then he caught me stealing looks at him. Gah!

Aw, hell. Maybe if I play it cool?

I walked in and asked Mom what I could snack on, and she reminded me of the left-over chicken in the 'fridge.

Damn. She was drunk again. It was embarrassing, but I decided to ignore it, and carefully didn't look at the hot guy sitting at our kitchen table. He looked like a high school senior, so he couldn't be that much older than me.

He'd have to be out of high school, though, 'cause most parents won't let you move out until you graduate. Maybe he was going to be going to college this fall?

God, he was good looking! He was about a head taller than me, had shiny dark brown hair, glistening hazel eyes and long, dark lashes, lips that I was almost begging to kiss me, a bod to die for . . . He was gorgeous!

Yeah, I'm probably gay. So what? I'm not really comfortable with it, but in our society, who would be? Anyway, everything in me was screaming for this guy, so there wasn't a whole lot of doubt about it, right? I still wasn't going to come right out and say, "Here I am! Take me, you fool!" I hadn't told anybody my dirty little secret, yet. Didn't help that my brothers were dead and I was the last boy. Mom wouldn't get any grandkids from me. At least Dad wouldn't have to be disappointed in me.

Stupid car crash. If Mom hadn't been working, and me playing with friends rather than going to a stupid movie with Dad . . . But that was almost five years ago, and there was a hot guy in my kitchen.

He watched me all the way to the refrigerator. Talk about feeling self-conscious! I felt like my feet were going to get in the way of walking at any second. And my face felt like it was going to burn off, so I knew I was blushing, and that didn't help at all, either. But him watching me like that gave me hope that maybe he was interested in me.

I didn't give a thought to what I would do if he did make a move on me. It was all just feelings and hopes and dreams at that point.

I stuck my head in the fridge to cool off my face (and hide it), and asked if he was going to move into the apartment – just for something to say. Well, and to make sure my guess was right. I sure hoped so!

And then I actually went and offered to help him move in when he said 'yeah'! How stupid could I get? I might as well stand on a busy street corner and scream that I'm interested in the guy! No . . . Wait a minute . . . I mean . . . it could just be a friendly gesture, right?

In my panic I almost missed it when he introduced himself. I'm glad he repeated the name.

"I'm Cole," I said. Jeez, I sounded so lame!

But he was smiling at me, and I could feel my face burning again.

"It's nice to meet you, Cole," he said.

Wow. That deep voice of his just went right down into me. I swear if I'd been a girl I would have fainted by now. Or something. I think I'm in love. Well, at least in lust. Damn, I sure hope he's gay.

Rental agreement and receipt in my pocket, my mind was racing as I drove back to the house. I needed to rent a large storage unit, hire a moving company to pack and move 'most everything in the house into the unit, get a rental van to move the stuff I was taking with me...

There was too much in the house for even a large rental unit. Maybe just the breakables and the more expensive stuff, and store the rest in the basement - if the basement hadn't been made a selling point for potential renters. Six years - seven at the outside – and I should be able to take over the payments myself. It was a nice three-bedroom brick colonial, and it would be hard to get anything better.

The jacuzzi. Damn. Did I want to leave that for renters to mess up? Maybe I could talk Mrs Smith into letting me set it up at her place.

I couldn't help but smirk at the picture that came to mind of Cole and me sharing it. Maybe. Yeah, I knew we'd be sharing it, even if only platonically. If Mrs Smith agreed to have it there.

That was the first call I made when I got home. "Yeah, there's room on the back patio. Always wanted to try out one of those things," was the reply I got at the end of that conversation. Letting them use it had been the only way to get her to agree to it. So, another mover's fee. Shit. This was getting expensive.

I called the bank to check what was left in my bank account. There was almost three thousand dollars more in there than the last time I'd called – and I hadn't put it there!

I'd consolidated all of the bank accounts after Mom and Dad died. Simpler to keep track of. Turned out that Dad had some investments that regularly deposited into his – now my – account. Well, that would certainly help. The bank wouldn't discuss the specifics over the phone, though; I'd have to go down there to find out who, how often, and how much. I set up an appointment for later in the week.

Then I called a few of my high school friends. A lot of them had fallen away from me after my parents died. I think they just didn't know how to handle the situation. Like avoidance was going to help? But a few of my friends had stuck by me, anyway. After today I'd be really busy for awhile, so I invited them out for pizza and buffalo wings: kind of a 'last hurrah' before life got in the way.

"So you're gonna move out of that big ol' house and get a dinky apartment?" Brett asked me incredulously as we started working on our third pizza. Brett was moderately good looking, with his dark hair and tan. He'd probably wind up with a wife and three kids, although he'd just broken up with his latest girlfriend.

I shrugged. "Have to; can't make the house payments, and I don't want to have to sell it."

"So what you gonna do?" Joe, another of my friends, asked.

"Go to college and rent it out," I replied.

Joe groaned. Typical. He never did like school.

"Where you going to be living?" Mike asked. Mike was a managerial type. I didn't have a clue what area he might go into, but I was pretty sure he'd rise in the ranks, whatever it was.

"I found a place over close to the college. It's just a garage apartment, but it's cheap."

"Geez, man," Joe complained, "and here I was going to be taking my girl over there," Joe said, referring to the house. He was the joker of the group. I don't see him being a real success in his life. He seemed the type to become a mechanic or store clerk or something, and staying there. Not a lot of ambition, you know? But a great guy, anyway.

"Generous of you," I said, grinning at him.

The other guys laughed at him, and Joe shoved me in my seat. "You know what I mean, doofus," he said, grinning.

"So what makes you think I'd let you screw Jenny there, anyway?" I asked, teasing him.

"If you wouldn't, what use are you?" he replied with mock scorn.

"It's not like you've got much to work with anyway," Brett teased Joe with a mile-wide smile.

That earned him a whap upside the head. "Got more than you do, anyway!" Joe bragged.

That was a conversation I was staying out of. If any of them knew I was gay, they hadn't let me know, and I didn't feel comfortable discussing their genital attributes. I'd seen what they had, of course, in the shower after PE classes. I'd even entertained fantasies about each of them at one time or another. None of them were model material, although Mike came close, but they were all great guys in their own way, and none of 'em would crack a mirror by looking at it, either.

"What are you going to be studying for?" Paul asked me. He was the quiet one of the group. I'm not really sure how he became a part of it, but he was always ready to lend a hand, and we always included him. I could see him becoming a teacher, maybe.

"Pre-law," I said, shrugging, and trying to pass it off.

"Good area for you," he commented.

I shrugged again, not wanting to get into a serious conversation. I wanted us to be able to have fun, tonight. We probably weren't going to see much of each other from now on, as we prepared to enter our adult lives. I didn't like that idea, but I'd seen it happen, and I didn't have any illusions about our group being special or different.

Paul took the hint, and a little later we were playing the game machines in the back. When they started talking about partying though, I called it a night. I had too much to do, and I didn't want to be doing it with a hangover. We parted with jokes and laughter, and I went home.

Yeah. Sounds like I really had my shit together, doesn't it? Well there had been a pretty steep learning curve after Mom killed herself, so I had some idea of what I had to do, but I was nervous or unsure about what I was doing most of the time. If I got too deep in over my head I usually called Brett's dad for some advice.

Brett and I had been pretty good friends most of our lives, but we'd never become what I'd heard 'best friends' were like. When we were younger I did pretend that we were sometimes, though. Not sure why we never got close enough for that.

No, that's a lie. It was my fault. When I started feeling 'different' from the other boys I'd hung back a bit; not let myself get too close. The guys were a bit puzzled for awhile, but since I still hung out with them they'd soon accepted it.

Over the next week everything got packed up and moved where it needed to go, except for the stuff I'd almost promised to let Cole help me with. The heavy furniture was already in the apartment though, and the jacuzzi had been set up out on Mrs Smith's back patio. Since my car wasn't very big, it would probably take two trips to get the rest of it, but it was only about half an hour each way, and I could use the time to get to know Cole a little better.

Damn. He's been over here twice this week, and I had to be gone both times! That hot tub sure looks like fun, though. I wonder if he'll share it with me. I mean, I know we've got permission to use it, but it'd be great to actually be in the tub with him.

Mom says some of his furniture got delivered too, and he was here to show them where to put the stuff. I hope he didn't change his mind about letting me help.

That's not like Mom, though, to tell me stuff like that. Normally I wouldn't be interested, and she knows it. I wonder if she suspects anything? That scares me a little. Not that there's anything going on!

But I want something to be going on, and that's just as bad. Well, not bad, unless she finds out.

But first I gotta find out if I have a chance with him.

Copyright © 2006 by Shamyn Whitehawk