Bobby and the Chicken Hawk
Running Toward Hope, Chapter 7
I don’t wanna talk about it.
I don’t have to, right? I mean I gotta right to remain silent. I know that from Law and Order. Mom’s favorite one is SVU. She wouldn’t miss it for nuthin’. I ain’t old enough to watch it. That’s what she says.
I bet she never thought I’d be layin’ in a hospital talking to two lady detectives from Special Victims. I kinda wish I could call her and tell her. Only she don’t wanna know.
You kinda always think that a mom’s love is special, huh? Extra strong. Nuthin’ can break it. That’s what I used to think.
I ain’t surprised my step dad used to beat me up. He shouldn’t a done it so much, you know, but that’s what happens to kids like me in Texas. We get beat up if we don’t keep our secrets.
What surprised me is she didn’t stop him. Didn’t even try. Like, sometimes she seen him comin’ and she just walked outta the room?
Everything changed when she found out about me for sure. It’s like she was more afraid of what the people at church would say than she was afraid about what was gonna happen to me.
Bobby’s a faggot.
She couldn’t stand that. She couldn’t stand people knowing her own son was like that. When everybody started talking about it, she didn’t even nag me to go to church anymore. She was ashamed to have me there with her.
That’s what I think.
Or maybe it’s cause I told em to go fuck themselves.
Like for real. My sex life is none of my Sunday school teacher’s business. That’s what I told him too, right to his face. I got beat up pretty bad that night. I guess sometimes I ain’t too smart.
Then there was the time I was supposed to come straight home from school so I could go to this counseling thing at church where they were gonna help me not be gay anymore.
Supposed to. Didn’t. Got beat up again.
It’s when he knocked out a tooth that I finally said fuck and took off. I could tell he was starting to like it too much. It was too much like he was getting off on pounding the shit outta some teenage kid half his size.
I knew this one kid who ran away to Dallas for pretty much the same reason. Said Dallas was cool. He got caught in less than a week. Cops put him in this school that’s really a jail. So, I said fuck Dallas. Fuck Texas.
I had birthday and Christmas money saved up. I had summer job money. And the money I’d been getting outta mom’s purse she didn’t know about. I thought about San Francisco. Almost went, but then I’d a had to wait a day and half for a bus.
So, I went east instead.
Everybody says New York is the best place for a gay kid to …
You know.
Anyway, here I am. LT, he’s my friend. You gotta understand that. He ain’t never done nothing but help me. Everybody else? They want something from me.
Like, you know. Sex. Or money. But usually sex.
So, I go into this bar one night. Everybody says if you wear nice clothes and talk nice you can meet rich guys there. You can make a lotta money. I needed it. I was almost broke. I’d spent everything I brought. It was getting too cold to sleep outside at night.
I figured I could eat from blow job money, I could clean up at the bus station, but no way could I pay for a room.
So these kids at the station where I’d been hanging out, they told me about the bar. When I walked in, I seen all this dark wood and a piano, and people singing. Weird but nice.
And it was warm. Mostly I remember I was shivering, and it was warm inside.
Luke’s sitting at the bar hoping somebody will buy him a drink. He doesn’t care if he tricks or not tonight. His room is paid up a week in advance and he’s got almost two hundred in his pocket.
He feels rich and comfortable.
But he refuses on principle to buy his own alcohol. He wouldn’t turn down dinner either. The man in the black pinstripe suit at the end of the bar must be reading his mind. He points at Luke and then makes a pouring motion with his hand while he lifts his eyebrows in a question.
“Sure!” mouths Luke.
The bartender mixes his usual rum and coke while the man walks around the bar and slides into an empty stool.
They introduce themselves and drink. They talk about nothing much. Luke can’t imagine what a 60-year-old man would have to talk to a 19 year old about. So he just smiles and nods a lot.
“So, I’ve seen you in here before. I’ve been admiring you. You’re certainly a handsome young man.”
Here we go, thinks Luke.
“Could I buy you dinner? How about a nice steak?”
Bingo!
The restaurant’s just off the bar, three steps down in a sort of carpeted well. Red carpet. Like it’s all luxurious. Ha!
Luke’s thinking about how funny that is as he thumbs through the pricey menu. He already knows he’s getting a steak, but he might as well put on a good show.
The man who says his name is actually John, “believe it or not,” interrupts. He’s sucking air in over his front teeth, whistling in startled appreciation. “Would you look at that? Remarkable! Oh, my!” He sounds like some kind of fine-art connoisseur at a fucking gallery.
He’s pointing up toward the front door. Luke sees a kid talking to the bouncer. Blond. Skinny. Young. Maybe 15 or 16 if he had to guess. But he’s showing his ID and everything seems cool.
He looks cold in a thin golf shirt and khakis. Luke can see him shivering all the way from the table. The kid looks confused. Like he’s never been inside a bar before. His mouth is wide open as he stares.
That’s when “John” decides to strike. “Hey, LT,” he says, voice lower and huskier than it’s been. “Why don’t you go up there and invite him to join us?”
The three of them eat and talk. John turns on the charm. He gets the new kid to stop looking at the floor and start laughing at his jokes. Luke is starting to feel resentful. He’s glad for the meal, but he’d already been counting his money before the new kid walked in the door.
He’s sure John’s going to ditch him right after dessert.
John coughs lightly. “So, fellas …”
Here we go, thinks Luke. Back to the bar for me. Start over.
“Listen. I have a proposition for the two of you. I’ve got a room just around the corner. All set for the night. I’m, uh … celebrating my birthday and my wife isn’t expecting me home.”
Yadda, yadda, yadda, thinks Luke. Who cares?
The kid, Bobby, he’s all wide eyed like he gives a shit.
John keeps talking. “I have this birthday fantasy present I want to treat myself to. How about you two both come back to the room? You can stay all night. We can have drinks. Watch movies. Whatever. And then you two have sex. With each other while I watch.”
This is a new one for Luke. “With each other? Not with you? Like at all?”
“I won’t lay a finger on either one of you. 250 for the night. Each. What do you say?”
Luke sees Bobby look fast down at the floor. He gets the feeling the kid’s gonna bolt. Run home to mama. Then he slowly lifts his eyes and grins up at the older boy.
It takes John five minutes to settle the tab and usher the two teens to the door.
“Stop it! Leave Bobby alone! You said you just wanted to watch!”
“Yeah, well I changed my mind. Get out of my way.” John shoves Luke forcefully. Violently.
He grabs Bobby’s ass cheeks, pulls them apart wide, and spits twice. The kid is frozen, quivering like a gazelle caught in the jaws of a hyena.
Luke knows Bobby won’t be able to help him fight the dude off and he’s pretty sure he can’t take him on his own.
What he does next is purest instinct. He doesn’t think, he doesn’t decide. He simply acts. He straddles John, lines himself up as best as can, and sinks, wincing and gasping as he impales himself onto the man’s engorged dick.
John protests a little at first, but Luke grinds away, up and down, relentlessly. Soon, John’s hips are bucking on their own. His eyes roll back in his head, and he comes, cursing and pounding on the mattress.
He’s snoring within minutes.
He’s all apologies about “getting carried away” when he wakes up. He pays them but forgets that he said the word “each.” He hands them 250 to split and there’s not a damn thing Luke can do about it.
He and Bobby walk out the revolving brass hotel doors together.
Bobby looks around as if to ask himself were he is and how he get there. “He said he didn’t wanna even touch us. He said!”
“Yeah, right. People lie. Sorry, kid.”
“Don’t be sorry. I just wanna say thanks. I ain’t never done that. You saved me, man.”
“I just wanted to make sure we got paid. Anyway, I’m out. Places to be. Maybe I’ll see ya around, huh?”
Luke turns and strides briskly down Second Avenue. He can’t afford to look back. He can barely take care of himself. No way can he adopt a stray. He has no idea why he saved the kid from that pounding. He’s not sorry he did it, but he can’t afford any more generosity.
The light’s red at the corner. He has to stop and wait while a hundred taxis blare their horns and turn down the avenue.
It’s the stopping that gets him.
He sighs, turns his head, and spots the kid still standing outside the hotel doors, lost, gawking at traffic.
Luke acts again, only this time he thinks first.
He waves his hand in a “get over here” motion.
“Bobby! What are you waiting for?” he yells. “Come on! Let’s get breakfast, buddy.”
Marissa’s hiding inside a dumpster three blocks from the loft. It’s been an hour since she outran Tomas. If he hadn’t had to stop to throw on some clothes, he’d have caught her for sure. He’s still prowling around out there somewhere, looking for her.
“Bobby?” she whispers into the phone. Thank God you finally answered. Where you at, man? Lukie, he with you?
“Cops, what cops? What you talking about? I need Luke, Bobby. I need help. I ran away!”
This is chapter seven of a serialized short story dealing with homelessness among LGBTQ youth. Over forty percent of homeless youth in the United States identify as LGBTQ. That’s extraordinary given that queer youth don’t make up more than 3 to 7 percent of the general youth population.
While the details of this story are fictional, I’m writing from my heart and from my experiences. I’ve known these kids. I’ve been there in many ways. The issues are very real and very serious. I’m fictionalizing the stories of real people.
I’m telling their stories because they need somebody to speak for them.