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Eight Months Ago

BARRETT: Holy fucking hell, Gabe, I thought you knew.

The words on the Internet chat screen were left unattended as Gabriel fell back in his chair, fighting off emotions and thoughts that clawed and screamed for attention. His rooms at uni were not well soundproofed, and he pushed down the urge to cry out, to vent what he was experiencing. Flashes fired off in his brain, rage, desperation, disbelief, abject grief. The Clydesdale wanted to punch down the brick wall of the building. He wanted to fall into his bed and wail. He wanted to run down the beach at St. Kilda until he exhausted himself, and then run into the sea and let the waves claim him for good and all. He couldn't name what kept him seated there in his chair, forcing him to stay, to wait until his mind had a chance to clear. For more than twenty minutes, he couldn't have named anything at all. Someone walking in on him might have thought that he'd had some kind of seizure.

"Have you learned how to cry yet?"

The stallion moved only his eyes in response to the voice. "Yes."

"Who was it?"

"Lyrica."

"Lover?"

"Non-sapient mare. Equine encephalitis."

The owner of the voice nodded. "Looked after her."

"Best I could."

"You did the same for me."

"Let you down."

"No, Gabe. I let you down. Maybe I could have kept fighting, if I'd tried. I was just too tired. Took the easy out." Several seconds passed. "Sometimes, we leave before we go, instead of at the same time. Never got to say I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too, Leeson."

Gabriel felt the shift in the empty room, the soft departure of an old ghost that still shared space in his heart -- the third of his five promises. He snuffled up a shuddering breath as he felt the hot tears on his cheeks. He hadn't wanted to say goodbye to the gray-furred wombat, all those years ago, but at least he'd been able to. Words, anyway. The promise that he had made to himself was to learn how to cry, because he needed to say a real goodbye, knowing that he might have to say it more than once, to more than one person. The tears he shed now, in this long-removed place and time, were in part for Leeson, not the first, not the last. The rest...

"Demmie..." he whispered to the still air.

It made no sense to him, none of it did. He'd lost touch with the young dingo some few years ago, but he didn't take it personally. The pup had found himself the love of a lifetime, or that's what he'd said at least. It was serious enough that he was planning out everything from going to the same American university with him to figuring out where the two of them would live, what they'd be doing to sustain themselves, to carve out a whole life together. It hadn't been quick, either, although it had been secret because of the stupidities of his idiot sire, the one who had put Demmie at risk in the first place. Gabe felt a sudden need to throttle the bastard, forced himself to calm down again. He hadn't seen the elder Riddell for the past few years anyway, partly because he stayed in the States more, and partly because of the stallion's own university schedule. The Clyde worked summers at the ranch, some weekends and breaks in the uni calendar. William was still head wrangler up there, and he'd managed to pull some money out of the old dog's tight ass, so the pay had gone up for the ones who had stayed, worked hard, learned. The old numbat and he were probably the only two of the hired paws left who remembered when Demmie was still there...

Suicide.

The idea was unthinkable to Gabriel, unthinkable of Demmie. He wouldn't. He couldn't. It just wasn't in his nature. He had fought against his own sire, fought against losing himself, fought to trust in who and what he really was. And he had made promises, with his words and with his body, on those three fine summer nights, the last Christmas that the young dingo had been in Oz. The stallion could still touch those memories as tenderly as he had touched the pup, daring his own heart as well as Demmie's in a farewell gift to them both.

Impossible. Not fucking possible.

Gabriel tapped well-worn keys to close the chat window, guided the mouse to folders containing the emails that he had kept, a small library of intimate commentary from a young exile. It wasn't like the stallion to pore over them on long winter nights, but he kept them, perhaps on the off chance that the dingo didn't, perhaps because of that fifth promise that he had made to the pup. It might prove important to the yowen one day. Few kept diaries as a youth, for reasons ranging from lack of patience to lack of knowing just what to say, how to say it, to whom one could say it. In Gabriel's case, there was no means of keeping such a journal; he had no access to computers, and paper was too bulky to keep, too easy for someone else to find. It was all in his head, and that was quite bad enough for one lifetime.

He opened a few of the email texts, scanned them, hearing the dingo's voice as clearly as if he were in the stallion's arms again. Some of the words haunted him now; adolescence made everything extreme, and phrases like_I wish I were dead_ held only the meaning of pain and not of intent. Gabriel had answered each, even if just briefly, not wanting to leave such a sweet soul in torment.Future had been the watchword, on those ecstatic nights together and in the communications later. He knew that Sandy, the sweet otter who had shared his love with Demmie at school, was keeping in touch by emails as well. He knew from talking with the pup that they would have stayed together if they could, and Gabriel did his best to keep up the morale of them both.

I miss him so godsdamned much, Demmie had written, and you told me that I couldn't say those sort of words until I was older, but this is email, not talking. The pup had tried so hard to keep his humor, but it was still clear to Gabriel that he really was hurting. The southeast Kansas winter had not been kind that year, and in a month when any dog worth his fur would be swimming during summer hols, the mental and emotional transition was quite literally painful. The stallion had read every word, felt, responded, kept things going as best he could.

Idiots here don't know how to spell, said one early email. Colonials bullocksed up the language, now I get to pay for it in grades. Fart-Biter bought all local computers, so now I have to fight auto-correct in order to spell 'honour' correctly. Yah, the whole double/single quote thing, backwards. Gonna need new cuss words, Gabe; help a mate, woncha?

The Clyde managed a weak smile when he re-read that one. The two had gotten creative for a while, surpassing "drongo" and "figjam" quite readily. Getting used to the whole new school system had been hell for the pup, not to mention that, apart from national history, he already knew most of what the American schools were teaching him. Maths, geography, science, lit, he already knew most of it.Like they're all a grade or two behind. Tests are dead easy, and these dinks think they're getting sod-all for having to read a chapter in a week. Headmaster's called a Principal here, and he wouldn't strike fear into the heart of a terrorized kitten. None of 'em'd last a month at a real school.

Most of the well-deserved gripes settled down after the kits and pups at the school stopped making fun of his accent, getting bored with such easy prey and looking for someone else to beat up on. That, at least, was one thing: The schools there weren't keen on letting on-campus physical fights burn themselves down before stepping up, so any altercations on the grounds got stoppered quick. Off school grounds, it was every fur for himself, and the pup put down any uprisings he'd been faced with, and word got around fast. Demmie was a tough pup. Wrangling non-sapient horses put some muscles on you, and even farm-grown yowens in the States weren't much of a match when it got down to bare knuckles. If he didn't get respect, Demmie at least got left alone.

Finding friends was a whole other issue. Gabriel felt each emotional kick in the belly when another would-be friend had proven false, or at least unsympathetic when the chips were down. The States as a whole was trying hard to grow out of its infantile origins, but from what Demmie had described, the "Midwest" and the "South" were actually going backward. Being openly gay was not possible, give his sire's attitude, and being closeted was even more dangerous, given the fevered homophobia of the region.No one to trust, the pup had written.No one to talk to, much less be with. I know you told me to hope for the future, Gabriel, but I keep feeling like maybe you'll be the last lover I'll ever know. And yes, I've got my scans on; the figjam isn't nearly as sophisticated as he'd like to think. He's watching a dummy account, dummy that he is.

It was barely two weeks in the States before Demmie got help with personal firewalls and other electronic subterfuge. Software and instructions had been forwarded on what appeared to be a music CD, sent from Sandy by way of Gabriel (the otter's return address being suspect). There was music on it -- great Australian stuff like The Angels and Nick Cave -- but a cache of goodies was tucked in a password-protected folder very innocently labeled "Classical," just to ensure that the elder dingo wouldn't open it even if he got the disc in his paws. Gabe did not open it, but he was later informed that, along with the tools to keep parental eyes out of the private sections of the computer, Sandy had included some particularly steamy stories and some "personal photos" that were carefully guarded. No worries about them appearing on the 'net; Demmie wasn't stupid or uncaring enough to pull such a stunt, and the Clyde was discreet enough not to ask for his own copies. He was mildly curious to know if Sandy were as flexible as otters are wont to be, but he could live without photographic proof.

It was mid-May of that first year when some things began to change for the young dingo. At first unsure of the various hired paws who were to come and go during the lengthening days (so weird not to wear a sweater in May), Demmie found himself warming to a young Akita male, a pup his own age who had just transferred into the area, into another foster home in something of a string of them, if the rumors were to be believed. Details began to emerge over time, and by the end of June...

Mr. Fart-Biter never populated the old bunkhouse on the property, but there's working electric, the plumbing's good, and the upstairs is still solid. I spent time cleaning up the bunk room until it was good enough for me to sleep there when the weather is warm. Mum didn't want me in the haylofts, and the bunk room has better cross-breeze in it. A couple of fans, some snacks, and the place is like a vacation resort. Anyplace HE isn't is like a vacation.

Showed it to Zachary this afternoon. He said it was great, like I had my own little house away from the main house. He said he envied me. He's in a foster house, and the people are nice enough, but it doesn't feel like a home to him. Maybe he could come have a sleepover some weekend. We can micro popcorn, I can let him hear those Oz bands...

Over the weeks came reports of Demmie finally finding a real friend in Zachary. They had a lot of interests in common -- both strong, both athletically inclined (Zachary more so, being watched for the 'ball team), both bright and not afraid of a little hard work in school. They both wanted to go to college when they graduated, the dingo figuring his dam would help him go, the Akita looking for a sports scholarship. He was good with the horses, Demmie had said, and he was almost too good-looking to be tolerated. The dingo had managed a few discreet phone snaps, sending them to both Gabe and Sandy, both of whom were glad that there was a friend at last amid the wilds of the cultural wilderness that was the U.S. in general and Kansas in particular. And yes, both agreed, that_toshifumi tora_ salt-and-pepper brindle was damn cute.

Should I tell him, Gabe? He seems cool enough, but I don't want to ruin a good friendship. Maybe he's not interested but would still be a friend. I don't know. He's good in sports, but he doesn't hang around with those males too much. Not with females much, either, but that's not saying much. I wish I knew what to do. Not like there's some secret pawshake or something...

Counseling was careful but tender -- something that surprised the stallion. Much like the stereotypical Clyde, Gabriel was big, powerful, and not always subtle. Even non-sapient Clydesdales could be light on their hooves when need be, but they were not bred for the equine equivalent of the ballet. Although he wasn't sure that he wanted to admit it even now, there was something about Demmie that had brought out the stallion's protective instincts, and that included a great many aspects of compassion. He had promised always to be a friend, and he had even told the pup that he loved him. Even across the miles, that promise still held strong.

Labour Day is the second Monday in March, in Victoria; in the States, it's lost a vowel and reappeared on the first Monday of September. The last carnival of the season happened that weekend; Demmie's email was positively on fire with everything that had happened. It was that Saturday night when he had finally dared, when they relaxed in the bunk room that evening.

Zachary's response was strange at first. He seemed to look right through me, and then he looked into my eyes and started asking questions. Not mad, not accusing, curious. Told him about Sandy; hinted about you (no names). No "what was it like" stuff from him though, just wanted to hear what happened. Told him about why the figjam took me away from Oz. (Had to explain "figjam" to him. Liked "fart-biter" better.) Told me the term "down-low." He hadn't done much before, but that night... Gabe, not all that much sex, but he held me, like Sandy did, like you did, and it's been months. Didn't expect that. Sunday was more carnival, me grinning like an idiot. We touched hindpaws on the rides when no one could see us, and that night was slower, more like what you and I had that first night, and he slept close with me again.

Don't worry, we're careful. We set a trap downstairs; the drongo would have to make a pretty good noise to open the door down there. We've agreed that I'd bounce up and hit the bathroom, towel ready, just about to take a shower, Zachary could get his shorts on, make sure his sleeping bag looked slept in...

So many lies. So many layers of protection, of disguise. Gabriel still longed for a world where it was unnecessary. He wasn't fool enough to imagine it would ever happen.

It took him until now to realize that he was no longer furious, the way he had been. The thought of Demmie being dead still hurt him terribly, but like all truths, it was slowly forcing its way into being accepted. He glanced through the headers of the various emails, blinking through them quickly. He read of how he'd been invited to "a real American Thanksgiving dinner," how strange it was to be cold at Christmas, how difficult it was to be with Zachary since the bunkhouse "wasn't fit fer livin' in winter," as his sire had put it. Demmie had discovered the plastic window sheeting that helped insulate so well, but even with that, Fart-Biter had declared the cost of heating too expensive, "and yer've got a perfectly good room here in the house, so what are ya gripin' for?"

Zachary was busy with sports in the fall and into winter, not able to visit much. He'd come over to study, and we did some at the kitchen table. Don't think the figjam suspects, just being cautious or summat, but still sucks. I'd still touch hindpaws with Zachary when I could get away with it. Think it helped. During the test, I remembered our touch, and I ended up doing pretty good. Squirmed a little, but good.

During the few weeks of Christmas break, the pups managed to find some time in the haylofts above the barn, acts which the dingo called "hard and fast but necessary."I can't believe how hard it is when he's not here, he wrote, only catching his unintended joke later in the email. Gabriel had laughed so easily at those comments, at the memories they stirred of his own adolescence, when those memories were worth laughing over. When everything was new, intoxicating, addictive... those were indeed The Days. It was like reliving it through Demmie, in more ways than one, as the pup got graphic a few times. Despite his preference for females, the stallion had to admit that the retelling could get a rise out of him (as it were). He found himself envying those "pre-20 years" on more than one occasion, especially when some dalliance with a uni female was more empty than it ought to be. As terrible as it might sound, he actually longed for his older clients, despite his desire to "clean up his act". At least those transactions were honest. Truth told, he envied Demmie more than a little. The pup was exploring, discovering, his one lover was good to him, was good for him, was enough. How simple things could be, in those innocent days. In thinking about his own poor results at the mating game, Gabriel found himself remembering what the old Al Stewart song said, "Before you learn to lie when you're leaving love... it's so much easier then."

Winter turned to spring, as it always does, and Zachary was more available. They found woods to hide in, weekend afternoon hay lofts, excuses to go see a movie at the cinema and indulge in some dangerous touches in the dark, like other teens would do, but even more dangerous for being a gay couple. Demmie did all he could to keep from showing just how much better he felt with the Akita in his life. His sire, dead set on believing that he'd "saved the pup," didn't catch on.

I think mum knows. She's never said anything to me, but she seems encouraging. Talks to the drongo about how good it is for me to have a friend, making it easier for him to visit, making sure that he's available for summer work. Not like he was a slouch last year, but still. Can't tell her, but what if she knows. Maybe she's blind as Fart-Biter, but doubt it. She's smarter than he is.

Gabriel had responded in the affirmative to that assessment. He advised caution, or at least quiet, for a while longer. If she doesn't know, best he not tell her; if she does know, she can keep up the truth that Demmie didn't say anything, so she wouldn't be hiding anything from Riddell the Elder. Silence always made for a better conspiracy than did anything else. The term "plausible deniability" was new to the vocabulary, but its essence had been around for millennia.

That second summer held fewer substantive emails, since there were more opportunities for Zachary to stay overnight at the bunkhouse.You'd be amazed at the hidey-holes I've found in this place. All sorts and sizes to hold lots of things. Experiments had gone further between the two yowens, and to read the dingo's brief but explicit accounts, both were reaping substantial benefits from the happy interactions.Telling tales, you helped me to anticipate his knot. Had to be careful with mine, but there's time. He's a good learner. Good lover, Gabe. You'd like him. The stallion had a few ways to take that, and he wasn't sure which he'd have preferred.

An early-summer carnival was no less wonderful than the one from the previous September, despite Gabriel's happy infliction of Bradbury's_Something Wicked This Way Comes_ and its attendant dark spells. In August, some of the Akita's days included mucking out in the morning, "summer scrimmage" in the long afternoon, and some evening chores back at the ranch. His bicycle got quite the workout, and the dingo was romantically graphic about the intoxicating aroma of his lover's sweat and musk. Again, Gabriel found himself drawn into the sensuality of it, grinning as he read of their mutual discovery of how much they enjoyed each other's unique olfactory signatures. It wasn't too difficult for Gabriel to remember the yowen's scent; he had memorized it on those nights, and he could still call it to mind.

Junior year for the pups, and Gabriel was doing more full-time at uni, and emails became a little more sparse, but still good. Demmie still had enough of his accent that the Yanks found it "charming", in a literal sense, and he found himself invited by a canny teacher to the debate squad.The judges don't expect a "Brit" (I correct 'em later) to know so much about American history and politics. I get away with murder, half the time, and the other half, yeah, my laptop full of refs is always ready, and when it comes to shoveling the shit, I'm that good. "All that and a bag of chips" they say here, although they mean crisps.

Zachary became a favored player on his junior varsity team, and Demmie took a few trophies home for his debating skills. The old dog in the big house couldn't credit how trophies were given out for "just talkin'," but overall, the whole school year saw dingo and Akita doing well, publicly and privately. Some standardized testing or other yielded good scores for them both, and spring brought back the woods, the haylofts, the promise of more time in the bunkhouse. The yowens were growing strong and confident in who they were, and that was beginning to put a few potentially dangerous ideas in their heads. Independence will do that.

The emails from Demmie grew confident, excited, and more than a little curious. He and his secret lover had joked with each other about going as a couple to the junior prom. Zachary had laughed along with Demmie, but the truth between the lines was that the dingo was starting to get itchy about coming out. Doing it at college would have been easier, especially if far away from the figjam, but Demmie was nothing if not bold. He wanted to turn that little corner of Kansas on its collective ear, and he wanted to be open and honest about how he felt about Zachary. They had studied together, worked on the ranch together, talked and touched and loved each other, and although he was scared about it, the Akita loved well and strongly. He was willing to join in with Demmie, as long as it meant they'd be together. Neither one could imagine being without the other.

For a long moment, Gabriel looked at the list of emails, realizing that there were very few left in the list he'd been going through. Attached to one of them was a photo of Demmie and Zachary, no doubt taken in the bunkhouse. They were stripped to the waist, and they held each other side to side, but there was nothing else incriminating about the photo. Two best friends, high school buddies, just a couple of ordinary pups, cooling off after a hot day's work in the early summer sun, smiles on their faces that only the select few would know held more intimate meaning than was seen in the picture. The stallion looked at the photo, noticing again the handsome young Akita's salt-and-pepper brindle, the black and dark gold melting into one another, and the dingo's stark white fur in contrast.Chiaroscuro. Like himself and the white pup on those hot December nights, blending, complimenting, merging. At the time, he had felt just a touch of envy for them, so young, so new, so ready to take on the world, because they had each other.

The last email. July. Winter taking hold, and uni classes the same. Demmie joking about the American Independence Day as being a good time to set his life free.I'd wait for January 31, when the anti-slavery amendment went into effect, but January dates are only good in Oz. I don't want to wait. I'm scared, Gabe, but I'm ready. It's time. I don't want to hide anymore, don't want to keep living the same lie that's haunted me on two continents. What's he gonna do, send me back? Here, I have Zach, and there, I have Sandy. If he'll come with me, I'll still have Zach, and for all I know, Sandy and some new lover in his life can join us, and we'll all move into a house together, and we'll paint it like a rainbow flag.

I was right about my dam: She knew about me and Zachary. She wasn't shocked by the news from that old bastard headmaster at the old school, and she could see how I was with Zachary early on. I took her aside one day, trying to figure out how to tell her, and she ended up telling me first. She hugged me, Gabe. I told her I wanted to come out, to be real. She asked about how Zachary felt; told her the truth, we're both scared, but we're more tired of hiding. Told me to think carefully, but she'd back me. She loves me. I think she thinks Zachary is good for me.

He is good for me. Zachary is strength for me, Gabe. I think he and I together could take on the world. Maybe I don't know what that looks like, but maybe I could find out. We could find out. I've put up with that bastard in the big house for years, and I'm goddam tired of it. I deserve better, and so does Zachary. He'll be on the varsity team this next year, and if he can get a college scholarship, then so can I. Academic, debate team, whatever, I've shit my way through tougher crowds. I don't have to have my sire's money to live. I need Zachary to live. That's who I am. Like you told me, I'm not a fag, I'm not a poofter, not some THING. I'm me. Or I can be. Zachary can be himself, and I can be myself, and we can be together, and the world can just damn well look out.

I'm ready, Gabe. I'm ready to be me.

Leeson hadn't said a word, and Gabriel was crying again, the ghosts in his heart keening as if never to stop.