Westpoint Tales

by Kiwi

Shorts

Back in Westpoint, Great-Uncle Martin McAlpine died. He was a quiet, private man; he never married so he had no children. His estate, such as it was, was left to Danny's mother. She was his niece and she was the only one mentioned in the will.

Danny thought that the funeral was the saddest thing he'd ever seen; there wasn't even a dozen people there. He hoped that there'd be more at his own funeral. He also hoped that it wouldn't be for a long, long time - it should be, he was only 14 years old.

The following day, he went with his parents and brothers to empty-out the old man's apartment. Not the nicest of jobs, but it had to be done.

"Have a good look around and choose anything that you want. What we can't use, we'll sell or give to the Sallie Army; they'll make good use of it."

"I wonder if he's got any porn?" Donny leered.

"Don't be stupid, he was an old man," Denny scoffed. "Besides, if he did, it'd be queer stuff."

"Yeah, probably. He was an old poof, wasn't he?"

"So they say, and - eww!"

"Yeah, yuck!"

Danny sighed, rolled his eyes, and went through to the other room to get away from his bigot brothers. Sometimes he wondered about those two - they protested too much. They were very different for twins, but they were always totally united in being nasty about gays. One of these days, they were in for a big surprise - not today though.

The old man's bedroom. It was a big bed for just one person. He must've been lonely in there. The room was very tidy; there was not a thing out of place. Definitely not a boy's bedroom!

There was a big picture, on the end wall, away from the bed - a painting. It was a picture of a slender, blond-haired boy, in a park somewhere. Green grass, blue sky, and a laughing boy leaping as he reached for a multi-coloured beach-ball.

He looked familiar. Danny stood looking at it, and then it struck him.

"Whoah! That's me. What's a picture of me doing in Uncle Martin's bedroom?"

The picture was not porn, but it was not far from it - a few less centimeters on the skimpy light-blue shorts the boy was wearing and it would've been. He had nothing else on, except for a smile.

Danny went out to the kitchen to get his mother. She knew the old man, he didn't, he couldn't remember ever meeting him.

"Mum, come and look at this!"

"Come and look at what? I'm busy here, Daniel." She grumbled, but she came anyway.

They went back to the bedroom. "Well, what've you got? Something that you want?"

"I don't know if I want it, but look at that picture there."

"Picture? Oh, that picture."

"Mum? What was he doing with a painting of me, a nearly-nude painting, in his bedroom?"

"Oh, I see," she laughed. "That's not you, Son. That's him - your great-uncle Martin, way back when he was a boy. But you're right, it surely does look like you, doesn't it? He was a fine-looking boy, just like you are."

"That's him - the old man? Damm, it must've been a long time ago."

"Yes it was. A very long time. There's boy inside every man, you know. A boy wondering what the hell happened? One day, if you're lucky, you'll be old too."

"That'd be bad enough, but I don't want to be all alone like he was. Was he gay, Mum?"

"Apparently, yes. But I never saw him with anyone; he was always alone."

A single tear slid down his smooth cheek.

"Mum," he whispered. "I'm gay too."

"Oh, Sweetheart!" She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. "Of course you are. I've always known that."

"You have?" He pulled back to look at her. "How did you know that?"

"Danny, I'm your mother. I knew you before you even knew yourself. It doesn't matter. I still love you; I always will."

"Denny and Donny won't like it."

"Well, tough! Your brothers are a pair of ignorant apes. They deserve each other. Don't worry about them."

"I won't. Thanks, Mum. I love you too."

"You'd bloody better! Do you want the painting? I think you should take it."

"I don't know. It makes me sad."

"Sad? Why would it? It's just a laughing boy."

"He was like me. I don't want to finish-up all alone like him."

"Don't then. Times have changed; it doesn't have to be for you like it was for him. You can take a different road. Take the painting home and hang it in your room so that, when you look at it, you'll be determined never to lose the laughter.

You can't see it, but he wasn't alone there. Someone threw the ball and someone took the picture."

"I will! I'll do that. Thanks, Mum, you're greatest. What do you think Dad's going to say?"

"I don't know. Why don't you ask him? He's standing right behind you."

"He is?" Danny spun around. "He is! Dad?"

His father said nothing, he just smiled and opened his arms. Danny flew at him and they hugged a long time.

"Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Mum. Have I got great parents, or what? I love you both."

Danny cried. He sighed, rolled over and woke-up shivering.

'Damm! Just another dream. Talk about your dreams and wishes!'

He lay there and sobbed silently. Why couldn't his parents have really been like that? Why couldn't they have loved their youngest son, even after they knew he was gay?

Did anyone really have parents like that? He certainly didn't. At least he'd found out where Donny and Denny got their attitudes from.

"Fuck 'em anyway. They don't need me and I don't need them either."

He reached behind him, pulled the duvet over, and then rolled back into his Boy's warm embrace.