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Stop!" The word escaped as a hoarse sob. "... please...."But the older boy kept pounding into him. Over and over, his fists landed with sickeningly dull thuds against Vin's chest and stomach.
Two boys held his arms, pinning him helplessly against the wall, while the others watched, yelling abuses at Vin and encouragements at his attacker.
Slowly he began to sink, as if the very air around him was turning to water. The yells grew distant and the blows seemed almost to be happening to someone else. His knees gave out as the grip on one arm began to slacken. An unexpected punch to the mouth and then the smell of dirt in his nostrils brought Vin sharply back to himself.
"Dude, you totally decked the wall! I can't believe you missed him," Vin faintly heard someone laugh.
"God-damned faggot moved!" he heard someone else say. Then things grew suddenly quiet.
Hours later, long after the distant lights of the high school's football field had been extinguished, Vin managed to roll over. He hurt, more than he'd ever hurt before in this life. His breath came in shallow gasps and even that hurt.He had no idea what time it was. The game had ended; his team had lost. They'd thrown the ball to him: the winning play, or so it was supposed to have been. But he'd dropped the ball. His teammates seemed to take it personally, like gay guys were born with limp wrists for the sole purpose of fucking up their high school's chance at the division playoffs.
There were always insults slung after a loss, fingers pointed, blame laid, but tonight had been different.
"You lookin' at my ass, Tanner?" Eddie, one of the tight ends, had asked him, blamed him, as they both stood in the locker-room shower. "That what you were doing on the field tonight? Lookin' at asses? That why you fumbled the ball?"
"Naw, he weren't lookin' at no asses," Brent, the team's quarterback said, in what Vin thought was his defense. "He was staring right at me when I shot him the ball."
"You sure he was staring at the right ball?" Travis said, grabbing himself to make his point crystal clear. But Brent didn't appreciate what that comment inferred.
"Were you lookin' at me, Tanner?" Brent had accused. "You lookin' at me now? Answer me, fag-boy?" he demanded when Vin just stared hard at the cold floor, silent.
A few of the other players had joined in the taunting after that, though Vin didn't know why they would think him gay — he'd been so careful to hide his confusing thoughts and feelings. He'd even asked a girl to the winter formal, though he had yet to figure out how he was going to get a suit, let alone the money to buy his date the prerequisite corsage.
"This what you want, pretty boy? You wanna taste of this?" John, one of the linebackers, had asked, gesturing toward Vin with the cock he held in his meaty hand.
Vin had turned away, trying to ignore his teammates, until he felt a hand on his back that shoved him against the tile of the shower wall.
"What's going on in here?" the coach had said, finally hearing the ruckus. "You boys know it's a team win and it's a team loss. No one player ever gets the credit for anything. We lost because the team didn't give one hundred and ten percent. You got that?"
"Yes, sir," the boys had replied, all except Vin who was suddenly embarrassed to be standing naked in the shower with six other naked boys. He wasn't attracted to any of them, yet his body chose that moment to demonstrate the contrary to them all.
After the coach had left, no one said another word to him, though their looks had been filled with anger and blame.
Vin finally managed to roll onto his back. Above him, the stars were thick and bright against the blackness of the heavens and he felt lost among them as the cold air and damp grass began to make his aching body shiver. Tears ran silently down his cheeks, turning the dried rivulet of blood from his split lip liquid again. He could still taste the metalic saltiness in his mouth and he could not stop himself from feeling the cut with the tip of his tongue, the sudden and welcome sharpness of the sensation momentarily drowning out everything else.He didn't know how he'd managed to finally sit up, let alone stand, and then walk the mile and a half back to his home, his foster home. No one was waiting up for him. He didn't think there would be, but he was disappointed all the same as he stripped out of his clothes and crawled, naked except for his boxers, into bed.
The two hours of rest before his foster mother cracked open his bedroom door to wake him had brought only stiffness and fatigue. He stood under the hot water of the shower until his foster father began to bang loudly on the door, reminding him he was going to be late for school. Vin didn't care. He didn't want to go to school. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever again. He didn't want to have to look at the boy who had done this to him, at the boys who had helped Brent, at the boys who had witnessed it, encouraging the quarterback. But, more than that, he didn't want to look at the others who had seen the beating and had chosen to turn their backs, to walk away, for whatever reasons, unwilling to help him.
"If you're not outta that shower in thirty seconds, so help me..." his foster father had finally threatened and Vin resignedly turned off the water. As he combed his hair and gingerly brushed his teeth, trying not to tear open the cut on his lip, he stared into the mirror above the sink. Thankfully it was still fogged with stream from his long shower, but he didn't need a mirror to know his body was covered in bruises.
Before leaving the bathroom, he wrapped a towel around his waist, and one around his shoulders, just in case he met either of his foster parents in the hall. He didn't, making it quickly back to his bedroom. He dressed and then headed downstairs, wondering how much trouble he'd get in if he only pretended to go to school today.
"Vin," his foster mother Eleanor called to him as he finally headed out the kitchen door. "Don't forget your lunch." She handed him a brown bag, worn and softened almost like fabric from its constant reuse, that was filled with the usual peanut butter and jelly sandwich, apple, and homemade chocolate chip cookies.
He just nodded as he took the bag from her, not daring to meet her eyes, but she held firm to the bag, then grabbed his chin with her other hand, lifting his face to look at it.
"Vin!" she scolded him, dragging him over to the sink and wetting a rag with some whiskey she pulled from the side cupboard. She pressed it to the raw split and Vin sucked in air to keep himself from crying out at the sharp pain that seemed to set off every nerve in his jaw and mouth. "I'm gonna hafta talk ta that coach of yours—" she began, but Vin quickly cut her off.
"I'm fine," was the only protest he managed before she pressed the whiskey-soaked rag to his lip again.
"Nonsense. You boys are always gettin' hurt on the field. That coach of yours outta do a better job of makin' sure you get properly tended to afterwards."
Properly tended to, well, that was one way of putting what had happened to him last night.
"Oh, stop coddling the boy, Eleanor," his foster father said, entering the kitchen in his permanently stained work clothes. "It's a good lesson fer him. Football's like life, Vin. Ya go out there and ya try. Don't matter how many times they knock ya down, how many yards they drive ya back, how many cuts or bruises ya git — there's always another quarter to play, or another game."
"Ain't no more games to play. Got beat. Now it's over." Vin wasn't talking about football, but he knew that his foster parents wouldn't realize it.
"Always another game, Vin. Ya think people all over are gonna stop playin' football 'cuz yer team lost? Don't work that way. Life don't work that way. There's always another season. Fresh start. Everybody's equal again."
Vin just looked at the man.
"No, I reckon that ain't really true," Jim Wheaton corrected himself. "Not often a man gets a fresh start in life. Still, shouldn't stop ya from goin' out there and tryin' again."
Vin agreed with the first part, knowing his loss on the field yesterday and his beating afterwards would be things not soon forgotten by anyone involved. He had a hard time buying into the second part.
And his suspicions were only confirmed when his foster father stopped him at the door, just as he had decided to try, to actually go to school today.
"Oh, and Vin? You're grounded."
"What?"
"Ya heard me. Grounded. Now that football's over, yer to come straight home from school fer the next two weeks. Eleanor'll have a list of extra chores fer ya."
"What'd I do?" he complained, feeling suddenly hollow as the lecture on football, life, and getting beaten down really began to sink in.
"Missed curfew last night. I heard what time ya finally dragged yer sorry butt in."
"Aw, man. That wasn't my fault—" he began, though he didn't intend to tell them why he'd been so late.
"Make that three weeks, mister."
"Oh, now, Jim — he'll miss the dance," Eleanor reminded her husband. "He can't miss the dance. He asked that nice Jenny Parker, you know, Bob and Dorothy's little girl."
"Well, he shoulda thought about that 'fore he broke curfew. The boy has to learn to be responsible fer his own actions. Few things in life don't come with consequences and he's gotta learn to stand up to 'em, face 'em, deal with 'em." He then turned back to Vin. "Ya knew the rules. I'm sorry ya gotta miss that dance, Vin, but ya'll just have to tell that Jenny girl ya can't go."
Eleanor looked over at her foster son, making a sympathetic face which Vin appreciated, though it didn't make him feel any better.
One lousy dropped ball and the whole damn world just caves in, Vin couldn't help thinking to himself as he finally headed toward school. And he really couldn't think of a single reason to just keep trying, no matter what his foster dad had told him.
"Jenny, kin I talk ta ya?" She was in the advanced math class, right after his; she'd found him in her chair once, still copying notes off the board between their two classes. For some reason, she'd offered to help him with his homework; that was the first time he'd ever had either a reason or the nerve to speak with her. Somehow he'd ended up asking her to the dance. "I, uh, I'm sorry. I can't take ya ta the Winter Formal—""So, it's true? What Brent said about you?" she'd asked, taking an almost imperceptible step backwards.
Vin suddenly felt sick to his stomach, trying to swallow the bile that seemed to be rising up, clogging his throat.
"Are you really ... gay?" she whispered, a mixture of both disgust and curiosity in her voice.
He couldn't find the words to answer her. Even the simplest thoughts seemed to have fled his mind. Gay? Brent had told her ... had probably told the whole school ... that he was ... that he.... Oh God, what had Brent actually said?
Vin had been the one to back away from Jenny then, no longer able to even look her in the face. Then he was in the hall, surrounded by all the other students. He felt all eyes on him. Staring, glaring, accusing. As he moved away from the classroom, people seemed to suddenly move out of his way, avoiding him as if he were contagious, until he finally began to run, pushing past students who didn't have enough time to react to his presence.
When the bell for class rang, Vin was locked in a stall in the boys' restroom, hot tears burning down his reddened cheeks. "I HATE school!" he thought, gritting his teeth. He knew what Brent's accusation would mean. He lived in a small Texas town. A place where gay people didn't live. Not for very long, anyway. He knew what life held for him now, more of what he had gotten last night: hateful looks, accusations, name-callings, beatings....
What he didn't know was what his foster family would do. Ask the social worker to place him somewhere else? Or maybe they'd just wait the six months until high school was over, until their contract with the state was up, if they could stand it — no telling what their neighbors would start to say behind their backs, to their faces. Either way, he wouldn't see another Christmas with this foster family.
Vin brought a trembling fist smashing down against his thigh. It wasn't like he meant to be this way. And he hadn't ever — EVER — acted on anything he'd felt. It wasn't fair that he was being punished for things he hadn't done. For things that weren't his fault!
Vin shook his head. He didn't want to think about this. He unlocked the stall door, washed his face in the sink, then peered out the restroom door, checking up and down the hall to make sure no one else was around. He wasn't going back to class, not today, not tomorrow either. There was a place down by the creek where he could go, a place no one else knew about. He'd spend the rest of the day there, until he had to head home to do the extra chores his foster father had given him.
When he came to the end of the hall, he checked around the corner. Still no sign of anyone. All he'd have to do is make it past the cafeteria, then out the door and he'd be gone. He started walking toward the door, slowly at first, gradually picking up the pace, but not daring to break into a run.
Suddenly, the cafeteria door opened and a man in a crisp uniform stepped directly in front of him. "What are you doing out of class, young man?"
Vin froze in his tracks. "Uh ... had to, uh, take a leak ... uh, sir."
The man nodded, and then corrected, "It's Sergeant. Since you're here, would you help me for a moment?" Vin just nodded. The army sergeant handed Vin a roll of tape, then held the poster he'd been carrying against the wall. Vin tore off several pieces and taped the poster in place. Then he stepped back and read what the poster said.
"Yer a recruiter?"
The man nodded. "We like to give the high school seniors a few months before graduation to think about their futures. Not everyone can afford college. Not everyone gets a scholarship. Not everyone knows what he wants to do for the rest of his life, especially when he has so much of it still ahead of him."
"Ya take anybody?" Vin asked, suddenly thinking about that fresh start his foster father had mentioned that morning.
"You have to pass a physical examination."
He thought he could pass one of those — well, maybe not today, not with all the bruises and aches from being beaten up — but after they healed.... Vin had already passed the physical earlier in the year to be on the football team.
"You have to be at least seventeen and have the consent of your parents, or you can just wait until you turn eighteen—"
He didn't know if his foster parents would consent, or even if they legally could. But, it didn't really matter much; Vin would be eighteen at the end of February.
"And, you need your high school diploma."
Vin's hopes fell with this last bit of information. That meant six more months of school. If he quit, just ran off, he'd still have to get a job or something. He knew what life was like with no job, no money, no place to live, and no food to eat. No, he'd made that mistake once before. Maybe he could put up with the torment, the beatings for another few months. Maybe, if it meant getting to start all over again....
"You seem disappointed. You in some sort of hurry, son?" the man asked him after a moment of silence.
"Just thinkin' now's as good a time as any ta start workin' on that future you were talkin' 'bout," Vin said, shrugging his shoulders as much as the stiffness in his muscles would allow. "Say, what if I take that test, you know, the one that lets ya get yer diploma early?" Vin remembered a boy who'd done that last year — after his father had died and his ma needed him to help support the family and run the farm.
"A diploma's a diploma. Just take some time to think about this. The U.S. Army doesn't want you all gung-ho to sign up without you realizing what you're getting yourself into. Once you enlist, you've got a responsibility — to your country and to yourself — to see it through."
Vin thought about that for a moment. Thought about all the football practices he'd gone to, never missing one, about all the chores he had at home and always managed to get done, no matter what, even if he didn't like doing them.
"Why don't you come into the cafeteria with me. I've got some brochures you can take home, read through. Then you can have all the information in order to make the right decision." He smiled at Vin, though he didn't look like a man who smiled at just anybody, then headed through the open door, into the cafeteria where the service workers were starting to prepare for the lunch break.
Vin watched him for a moment, not moving an inch from where he stood, before he looked down the hallway at the door that led outside. Finally, he took another look at the poster he'd help hang, of a man standing straight and tall, looking proud. In the background were tanks, airplanes, radarscopes, and men with green and black camouflage paint on their faces. "Be All That You Can Be. The Future Is Yours, In The Army!" it said in bold white letters across the top.
With a small, determined breath, Vin made his decision and headed for the door, the one that lead into the cafeteria where the sergeant was waiting for him.
~ fade ~
October 2001 Please do NOT repost this story anywhere outside of the Blackraptor Fiction Website. Thanks to my beta reader for all her helpful suggestions! Characters from "The Magnificent Seven" were used without permission and this story in no way signifies support of, or affiliation with, The Mirisch Group, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment, CBS Worldwide, Inc., or their affiliates. The M7-ATF universe was created by Mog, and extra thanks go to her for allowing other people to play so liberally within it. The story itself and any non-Magnificent Seven characters belong to the author. This story will not be sold for any reason.