A Better Place Read online

  A Better Place

  Gay Youth Chronicles

  A Better Place

  Mark A. Roeder

  Writers Club Press

  New York Lincoln Shanghai

  A Better Place

  All Rights Reserved © 2001 by Mark A. Roeder No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying,

  recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

  Writers Club Press an imprint of iUniverse, Inc. For information address: iUniverse

  2021 Pine Lake Road, Suite 100 Lincoln, NE 68512

  www.iuniverse.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All registered trademarks mentioned in this book are the property of their respective owners. No infringement is intended or should be inferred.

  ISBN: 0-595-17176-1

  Printed in the United States of America

  This book is dedicated to Ronald Donaghe, one of the greatest writers alive today; to Ken Clark, for all his continued help; and to Ralph, who is finding his way. This book is also dedicated to my late Grandmother, Ardelene (Selby) Rogers and to all the memories I have of sipping hot tea with her at the kitchen table, and of her garden.

  Foreword

  Up until the publication of this book, Mark A. Roeder’s body of work included The Soccer Field Is Empty, Someone is Watching, and Someone is Killing the Gay Boys of Verona. Beyond the fact that Mr. Roeder wrote three books within less than two years, his work is remarkable for bringing to an enthusiastic audience of young gay men stories that are no doubt relevant to their lives. Further, his work is remarkable in that he captures what must be the language and nuance of feelings present-day “gay boys” experience as they come out of the closet and come out to their peers. Not so many years ago, it was unheard of for gay men and women to come out of the closet, and even more remarkable for gay teenagers to do so; and sadly, not too many years ago, as well, violence against gay people was relatively rare.

  Mr. Roeder’s stories, however, give credence and substance to both—that a significant number of teenagers regularly come out to their peers and that they are the objects of violence and hatred as a result. In the order that Mr. Roeder’s books have appeared, he has written about gay teen suicide (The Soccer Field Is Empty), courage in the face of terrorism and hatred (Someone is Watching), and religious bigotry and persecution of gay teens (Someone is Killing the Gay Boys of Verona). Further, in the same order, these novels are a romance, a suspense, and a ghost story.

  Now comes his fourth novel, A Better Place. It is distinct from his others, in that it is a story of the cruelty of attempting to cure homosexuality through aversion therapy and other medical and psychological quackery. Like the three novels before it, however, A Better Place is also a story of high school age gay teens, and it should also appeal greatly to a young gay audience.

  While Mr. Roeder’s novels reveal the ugliness of homophobia, they reveal equally strongly the heroic struggle that present-day teens are involved in, as they attempt to make sense of their lives and to learn to love themselves and each other.

  vii viii A Better Place I would recommend that readers enjoy the books in the order that Mr. Roeder has published them, beginning with The Soccer Field Is Empty, then moving through Someone is Watching and Someone is Killing the Gay Boys of Verona and, then, reading A Better Place. But if you have picked up this book and have not read any of Mr. Roeder’s previous novels…go ahead and read this one. Be certain, however, to pick up the others. You will gather within your heart a satisfying number of characters to get to know and to return to time and again.

  Ronald L. Donaghe

  Las Cruces, New Mexico Author of “Common Sons”

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank Ronald Donaghe, author of “Common Sons” for editing this book, and Ken Clark for all his suggestions, corrections, and all the hard work he puts in as my “highly unpaid publicist”.

  Chronology

  Historical Note: “A Better Place” takes place during the same time as “The Soccer Field Is Empty” and “Someone Is Watching.” Introduction

  This novel is fictional, but it represents the real world all too well. Unfortunately, places like the fictional Cloverdale Center do exist, although what is done there is unthinkable. Very real horrors are inflicted on children and young adults in an attempt to “cure” them of homosexuality. What is done in such places is nothing more than medical and psychological quackery, not unlike that practiced in mental hospitals of centuries past.

  Just as there is evil in the world, so is there good. Despite those filled with prejudice, hate, and intolerance, acceptance and understanding are becoming more commonplace. The ignorance and lies of the past are disappearing and a new world stands before us. Friendship, understanding, and compassion are more powerful things than hate, and will one day lead us all to a better place.

  xiii

  Part 1

  Fall 1980 Casper

  I put my tray down and took my place beside Stacey. She was my best friend, my only friend really. I liked her because she was nice to me, and she didn’t look down upon me because of my worn clothes the way most people did. She talked to me like a real person, like I was worth knowing. I liked that.

  I wasn’t sure why she liked me. Maybe because I didn’t drool all over her like the other boys. I just talked to her. I didn’t try to look down her shirt. I didn’t stare at her chest. I just talked, and I listened, really listened. Stacey knew I was really interested in what she had to say. The other boys just pretended they were interested, so they could be near her and check her out. I was different though, and she knew it. She knew I was real, and not a fake like the others.

  The only thing I didn’t like about Stacey was that she treated me like a little boy sometimes. I don’t mean that she treated me bad, or ordered me around or anything; it’s just that sometimes she acted more like a babysitter than a friend. I didn’t like that, I wasn’t a baby—I was fifteen. I was pretty short and thin, however, and looked younger than my age. I always had to wear my brother’s old clothes too, hand-me-downs from my dad, which were too big for me and made me look even smaller.

  Stacey stopped talking when Brendan Brewer walked toward our table. Her eyes devoured him. She wasn’t the only one who followed him with her gaze either. I noticed that the other girls sitting near were watching him too, even though most of them were pretending not to watch. The boys watched him as well, with an envious look in their eyes and a touch of jealousy too.

  I frowned. I knew it was stupid, but I didn’t like it when Stacey paid a lot of attention to another guy like that. It wasn’t because I thought of her as my girlfriend or anything. We were friends, just friends. I guess I was afraid that if she

  3

  started dating that I wouldn’t get to talk to her. I was also kind of protective. I knew what most boys at school wanted from her. Brendan smiled at her as he passed our table and went to sit with his football buddies. Stacey sighed. I guess I could understand that. Brendan was the captain of the football team. He was a living, breathing advertisement for tall, dark, and handsome. He was smart, good looking, and athletic. He had muscles bulging in all the right places. Every girl wanted to be his girlfriend and every boy wanted to be him.

  Brendan seemed like a pretty nice guy, but I still didn’t like him too much. He’d never done anything to me, but then he’d never even bothered to talk to me. I didn’t really expect
him to talk to me. He was from a whole different world. He had looks. He had money. He had everything. I had nothing.

  I watched Brendan as he sat down with all the football jocks. I guess I was like the other boys. I kind of wanted to be him too. I wondered what it was like to be tall and muscular, and to wear new clothes that actually fit and looked good. Brendan was wearing his letterman’s jacket. It was maroon and cream and made him look like a real jock. I felt my heart grow a little tighter. I’d never have a jacket like that. I’d never have anything that Brendan had. Life just wasn’t very fair.

  I pushed it out of my mind and tried to enjoy my lunch. We were having cheese burgers and fries, with corn, and apple cobbler. It was really good. Most of the kids complained about the food in the cafeteria, but I thought it was great, well, most of the time anyway. Of course, most of the other kids knew they’d get something to eat when they got home. I didn’t.

  Stacey grilled me about our reading assignment for English. We were supposed to be reading The Lord of the Flies, but I don’t think Stacey so much as picked up the book. She just asked me what it was all about.

  “You know, I think you’re just using me for my brain,” I said, teasing her. “If I wasn’t around you might actually have to read something.”

  “Don’t ever leave me, Casper, I couldn’t live without you,” she said laugh

  ing. “Now tell me what happened in chapter 3.”

  I filled her in on all the details. Unlike Stacey, I always read the assignments.

  I really liked reading The Lord of the Flies. It was a good story and I couldn’t

  wait to see what happened next in it. I had to fight myself to keep from working ahead. Sometimes I didn’t have much to do after school, so I rationed out

  the things I enjoyed to make them last longer. We didn’t have a television and

  I didn’t have any money to do anything, so that left me with little to do. Lunch was over all too soon and Stacey and I went our separate ways.

  School became a much more unfriendly place when she wasn’t around. When

  I was with Stacey, no one bothered me. They wouldn’t dare because she’d lay

  into them. When she was gone things were different. When I was alone I tried

  to be as invisible as possible and not draw any more attention to myself than I

  could help. That was the best way to survive in high school. The more invisible

  I could be, the less I got picked on. I was real good at it. I thought of myself as

  the “invisible boy.”

  I looked around the hall, carefully checking it in both directions, then

  quickly slipped to my locker and worked the combination. I jerked on the

  latch. It was stuck, of course. The old lock was tricky. If I didn’t do the combination exactly right, it wouldn’t open. If the dial was so much as a millimeter

  off it would hold fast. I quickly worked the combination again. I pulled. The

  latch opened. I opened the door just a crack and then a hand slammed it shut

  again.

  “Having trouble with your locker again, Casper?”

  Even before I looked up, I knew who was standing there. Brent Bairstowe

  was one of my least favorite people in school. He and his buddies, George

  Winters and Jimmy Pearson, made up what I called “the terrible trio.” They

  lived to make life difficult for boys like me and I was their favorite target of all.

  I looked around, but Brent was alone. At least I didn’t have all three of them to

  deal with.

  I didn’t answer Brent. I knew he’d twist anything I said and use it against

  me. I swallowed the small knot of fear rising in my chest and reminded myself

  that there was only so much he could do to me there in the hallway. Mr.

  Vanmeter, my science teacher, was on hall duty and was only a few feet away. “Huh, Casper? Answer me! You think you’re too good to talk to me do

  you?”

  I hated it when he called me Casper, although everyone did. My real name

  was Clint, but I got tagged with the nickname Casper in grade school and it

  stuck. Jimmy was the one who started it. He said I was so thin and pale that I

  looked like Casper The Friendly Ghost. He started calling me that and so did

  everyone else. I didn’t really mind it when others called me that, even Stacey

  called me Casper. I think most people thought it was my real name. I hated the

  way Brent, George, and Jimmy said it, however, like an insult. I especially hated

  it when they called me “Casper, The Friendly Runt.”

  “Answer me you little punk!”

  Brent was getting mad. There was no way to win with him.

  “My locker is fine,” I said.

  “So now you’re calling me a liar,” he said and pushed me up against my own

  locker. The knob dug painfully into my back. I don’t know how he figured I

  was calling him a liar. It didn’t matter really. Brent would find one excuse or

  another to hurt me. Like I said, there was no winning with him. “I try to be nice and you treat me like shit,” he snarled at me. The bell rang. Brent gave me one last glare, and then ran off to class. I

  worked the combination to my locker again and finally managed to get my science book out. I dumped all the books I wouldn’t need and picked up the ones

  I would. Science was my last class of the day and I intended to make a break for

  it as soon as school was over. I knew Brent would be looking for me, probably

  with his buddies.

  * * * I dodged my way through the halls after Science and quickly slipped out the front doors.

  “Hey you little punk!”

  My heart skipped a beat in my chest and I prepared to run. I looked to my right, in the direction of the voice. It was Brent all right, but he wasn’t talking to me. He and his buddies had cornered another kid and were giving him a hard time. I wished I could do something to help him, but I was way too small to take on the terrible trio. If I intervened, all I’d do is get myself roughed up too. I hated being small. I slipped away quietly and quickly, before they could spot me.

  When I felt I was safe, I slowed down, walking as slowly as I could. I wasn’t eager to go home. I didn’t like it there. It was a bad place. I was afraid when I was there. It hadn’t always been like that. When I was little I always rushed home to my mom, to tell her what I’d done at school. She’d always give me a cookie and sit with me at the kitchen table and talk to me. My family had been poor then, too, but Mom had a way of brightening things up. She kept everything as neat as could be and decorated with flowers and things she could find that didn’t cost anything. Life wasn’t so bad then, but then mom got sick. She got real sick and had to go to the hospital. Dad complained about how expensive it was, how it used up all our money. I couldn’t believe he talked like that, like money was more important than Mom. I’d have spent everything I had to make her well, no matter how much I had. I even gave dad the few pennies I had saved up, but he just laughed at me and called me stupid. He was only nice to me when Mom was around. I knew he was ashamed of me because I was puny. My older brother, Jason, was tall and strong. He was dad’s favorite. I’m sure my father wished that I had never been born.

  Mom didn’t get any better. She just got weaker and weaker. Every time I went to see her she was worse. She promised me she’d get better, but she didn’t keep her promise. She died. I was mad at her for a long time for that, but later on I understood. I was little when it happened, but I could still remember lying on my bed and crying. I didn’t really know what it meant to be dead, but I knew I wouldn’t be seeing her again.

  That’s when things started to get bad. There was less to eat after that, and often nothing. Dad acted like I wasn’t even there. I felt like I’d lost both parents instead of just one. When he did notice me,
it was even worse. He was always angry with me, like it was my fault that we were poor, like it was my fault that Mom died. And then, some nights when he came in late and drunk…I closed my eyes and blocked the pain from my mind.

  I wished I had somewhere else to live. I dreamed about a nice family coming to take me home with them. We’d live in a big house and I’d have my own room. There would always be lots of good things to eat, and there would be a television, and maybe even a pool. I knew it was a fantasy that would never come true, but sometimes I liked to think about it and pretend. Sometimes I managed to lose myself in my own little world. I could be happy there for a while, even though I knew it wasn’t real.

  I could see the overgrown grass in our yard before I even got close. The neighbors were always complaining about how horrible our yard looked. I didn’t blame them. The grass was knee high and dad’s old pickup truck was sitting up on blocks in the front, rusting away. I’d have mown the lawn myself, but the mower hadn’t worked in ages and Dad was in no mood to repair it. I didn’t even bother asking him. I avoided him as much as possible. I tried to remain invisible at home, just like I did at school. If Dad didn’t notice I was there, he wouldn’t yell at me, or hit me.

  I waded through the yard and opened the front door. It was hanging on just one hinge. There was no lock, but then we didn’t need one. We sure didn’t have anything worth stealing, except maybe dad’s liquor.

  The house was quiet, no one was home. I knew Dad would probably still be at work, if he bothered to go to work that is. My brother Jason wasn’t home either. He usually didn’t come home until late. He spent most of his time after school running around with his buddies. That was fine by me. I didn’t like him. He was two years older than me and a lot stronger. He picked on me and called me names. He was a lot like Brent or George or Jimmy, only worse because I couldn’t get away from him. I lived in the same room with him. Jason did his best to make me feel unwelcome. He made it clear that he didn’t want me in his room. That’s what he called it, his room, not our room. Jason was never nice to me. I was afraid of him, even more afraid of him than Dad.