Destiny (Waiting for Forever) Read online

  Copyright

  Published by

  Harmony Ink Press

  5032 Capital Circle SW

  Ste 2, PMB# 279

  Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886

  USA

  [email protected]

  http://harmonyinkpress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Destiny

  Copyright © 2013 by Jamie Mayfield

  Photograph Copyright: Lori Blantin

  Cover Art by AngstyG, www.angstyg.com

  Cover content is being used for illustrative purposes only

  and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Harmony Ink Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Ste 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA.

  [email protected]

  ISBN: 978-1-62380-864-8

  Library ISBN: 978-1-62380-929-4

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-62380-865-5

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition

  July 2013

  Adapted from the award-winning Little Boy Lost series by J.P. Barnaby

  Library Edition

  October 2013

  This book is dedicated to all the boys who need someone in their corner. You have a whole family of people who want to see you try, and fight, and win. When you feel like no one cares, like no one listens, know that your LGBT family hears you and that we care. All you have to do is hold on just a little longer and find us.

  One

  MY HEART pounded hard against my ribs. Pressing a hand to my chest, I tried to slow my galloping pulse. Fear and excitement warred inside me, and my body felt tight as I turned toward the window and saw my family for what might be the last time. Leaving my newly adoptive parents seemed wrong. I’d lived with them for nearly seven years as their foster son before the adoption, and they were the only parents I knew. I wished they could be sitting in the seats across the aisle, but I couldn’t ask them to give up their lives just to go with me. Instead, they were watching the bus’s progress, still standing in the same place I had walked away from. I pressed my palm against the cold, smooth glass in a useless, childish need for comfort.

  Richard held Carolyn in his arms, his eyes dry but sad as he rested his cheek on top of her head. Carolyn, however, was crying as she pressed the side of her face into his chest, still watching the bus. I didn’t think they could see me because of the tinted windows, but I felt their devastation burning in my chest. My parents had adopted me to keep me in their lives, and I had walked away. Feeling horribly selfish, I tried to ignore the burn in my throat and my blurred vision, because leaving was unavoidable. The stale, dank smell of the bus, something like diesel fuel and old cheese, assaulted my senses as I tried to take a deep breath and pull myself together.

  It almost worked, until I looked at Adam.

  He was standing like a beacon among the few scattered cars in the lot. The way Carolyn had one hand on Adam’s shoulder drew my eyes. It looked less like she was comforting him and more like she was restraining him from running along behind the bus. Adam was in the same clothes he’d worn the night before, and I could still see him slamming my bedroom door as he left, angry at my choices. Even though we’d only been friends for a few months, I would miss him so much. As I sat on that lonely bus, I couldn’t help but wonder if Adam might have at least partially filled the gaping hole in my heart left by Jamie’s absence. I thought about us going to college and rooming together. Adam would have helped me with math, and I would have helped him with his English papers. We would have had bunk beds, and a new tiny dorm fridge next to his battered television. Each of us attending on scholarships, we’d have been broke but happy. I felt sad as I imagined us in each other’s arms, kissing and touching in nothing but our boxers as we relaxed on the lower bunk. Adam loved me; it was so clear in his face when he looked at me. I know I could have grown to love him if I’d just given us a chance. He was an easy guy to love. Trying unsuccessfully to force my eyes away from Adam’s tear-stained face, I wondered if he could have made me happy enough to live without Jamie.

  The bus pulled out of the station, turning left onto Government Boulevard, and I felt sick. My palms began to sweat and panic took over as I lost sight of my parents and Adam. I nearly bolted from my seat to plead with the driver to stop. In my mind, I could see myself clearly as I begged him to let me off, telling him that I’d made a terrible mistake. Instead, feeling every bit like the scared teenage boy I was, I pulled my feet up to rest on the edge of the bus seat. Holding my knees to my chest, I felt like just maybe, if I could pull myself into a tight enough ball, I could prevent everything from falling apart.

  I had made my choice, forcing everyone, including Adam and my parents, to live with it. Deep down, I knew they could not understand or agree with my need for Jamie. His parents had ripped him from my life to save him from our love for each other. Since then, I had been desperate to find him. I could see Jamie’s fear in every line of the letter he’d sent, which sat safely in my backpack. He had told me never to forget that he loved me, and I never would. So I huddled on a stifling, cramped bus, leaving my family to find him, to be with him.

  Jamie meant everything to me, and I was willing to risk anything to find him.

  Eventually, the urban sprawl morphed into greenery and sparse neighborhoods along the much larger highway that, judging by the sun, was heading almost due west toward California. A giggle from across the aisle reminded me there were other people on the bus. Sitting up a little straighter in my seat, I dropped my feet back to the floor and really looked around for the first time since boarding. Passengers occupied a few of the seats, lined up in perfect rows like teeth around me. Closest, and most likely the source of the giggle, a girl about my age rode alone. A white plastic band kept her hair from her face, and her eyes were glued to the phone on which she typed furiously. She looked excited, almost carefree, and it made me wonder if maybe she was on her way to college for the first time.

  I should be on my way to college. Walking away from the scholarship to the University of Alabama was one of the worst mistakes I’d probably made. I just couldn’t bring myself to regret it—not yet. It was as if my life had split into two different lines, with the decision to go to San Diego at the very center of the divide. On one line, I would go to find Jamie, get a job, and learn to love the California sunshine. On the other, I would have stayed with Adam, lived in the dorms, gotten an education, and had a completely different life. Each decision we make as human beings fractures our lives onto a different course, and we have to hope we’ve made the correct choice.

  Logically, it made no sense at all for me to set out on my own, barely eighteen, with nothing but a few grand in the bank. Odds were good that I would return home within a year, broke and wishing I’d taken the scholarship. My heart didn’t quite understand that logic, though, because every time I thought about heading to college without Jamie, my chest constricted so painfully I couldn’t breathe. I had felt unloved and unwanted for most of my life, passed from one foster home to the next without anyone caring what happened to me. I was never quite cute enough, smart enough, or good enough. At least until I was sixteen ye
ars old, and Jamie Mayfield sat on my bed that day after school and told me he loved me. My foster parents to that point had never even said that to me. I’m sure my biological parents had said it, but I couldn’t remember them. I couldn’t remember anyone having said it.

  No college, no scholarship, nothing could make me walk away from that.

  Suddenly, a little face popped up over the seat in front of me and smiled. The boy couldn’t have been more than five, the perfect age for my class at Sensei’s dojo. I was going to miss working and having sessions there. My last class had ended the week before, and Sensei and I had said our good-byes. The moment was bittersweet because while I was moving on to different things, I was leaving the man who had taught me so much about life and about myself. It struck me that he was one more person I was leaving behind, and I wondered if I’d have felt the same sense of sadness if I’d chosen to go to college instead.

  I smiled at the boy and gave him a little wave before my smile faltered. His mother wouldn’t want him talking to the queer, and at any moment, she would pull him back over the seat like I was contagious. The boy’s little hand bobbed back and forth, waving as if he’d just met his favorite cartoon character. His black curls bounced with each bump the bus hit, and the light in his eyes made me think he was probably having the time of his life riding the bus.

  “Nicky, honey, sit down and don’t bother the nice boy,” his mother told the boy quietly while turning to give me an apologetic smile. A little stunned, I waved her off, and it occurred to me that I was finally at least a hundred miles from the hateful little town of Crayford. No one would know I was gay, and therefore no one would have any reason to hate me, belittle me, or hurt me for simply being here.

  It was the start of a completely new life.

  When I pulled the schedule out of my bag, I saw that we still had a couple of hours before reaching our first stop. Gazing out the window, I settled back in my seat. The landscape had changed to lush green acres dotted with dense patches of trees. At regular intervals, I saw highway signs, speed limit signs, and huge advertisements for fast-food chains, hotel chains, and one for the NRA that looked rather intimidating. I was considering starting one of my old, battered paperbacks when I saw another sign, blue with a fiery swipe of red. The bold white lettering caused my breath to catch.

  Welcome to Mississippi—Home of America’s Music

  I’d never set one foot outside of Alabama. No matter what different home I lived in, who my foster parents were, or what my situation was, I’d never had any reason to travel. That one simple sign staggered me. On one hand, I was incredibly excited that my journey had begun and I was on my way to find Jamie. On the other, it emphasized powerfully that I was truly on my own. It was time for me to start making my own way in life. While Richard and Carolyn were legally my parents, they were in a different state, and there would be no going back.

  As I watched the miles ticking past, my thoughts turned to Jamie. Being ridiculously optimistic, I allowed myself to believe, just for a moment, that I would be seeing him in just two days. With a smile, I imagined the look of shock and happiness on his face when he saw me for the first time in over a year. His hair would be lighter from the California sun and maybe even a little longer like mine, but his eyes would be the same. That one look of love and excitement would be worth every minute of the two days I’d spend trapped on the bus, and everything that came after.

  Shifting in the uncomfortable seat, I allowed myself to daydream for a long time about seeing Jamie again. I sat with my eyes closed and my arms around my backpack as I imagined his arms around me and his soft, tender kisses. His face was clear in my mind as I thought about what we would do after I found him, what our apartment would look like, what jobs we might get. At night, we would come home to each other and eat pizza on the couch while we watched television; then later we would make love. The memory of our lovemaking flashed through my mind, and I savored it for just the briefest moment, feeling my body respond before pushing the thought away with a sigh.

  In order to have that kind of reunion, that kind of life, I first needed to find Jamie.

  Opening the largest compartment on my backpack, I pulled out the folded papers Richard had handed me that morning as we had packed my stuff into the car. As I unfolded the small stack, I smoothed the printed pages on my knee. The first few pages were from The Sunshine Center’s website.

  The Sunshine Center

  Curing homosexuality in a safe and nurturing environment

  Director: Reverend Peter J. Carmichael

  The Sunshine Center provides a safe and supportive place for men who wish to denounce their sinful and abnormal homosexual lifestyle choice, avoid the judgment of their creator, and come back to the light and love of Jesus Christ. The program is structured using a balanced regimen of masculine reaffirmation….

  Jamie’s parents had forced him into a program to make him straight. From everything I’d ever read about homosexuality, I’d never thought a cure was possible. “A balanced regimen of masculine reaffirmation….” I wasn’t sure what that meant, but almost at once, sick images filled my head. A boy, who looked disturbingly like Jamie, was strapped to a chair with electrodes stuck to his skin as he watched a screen flashing images at regular intervals. The first image was a naked woman with bare breasts and a knowing smile. Nothing happened to the boy. The second was a naked man masturbating, and the boy received an electric shock. His thin body went rigid in pain, and his eyes were wet with humiliation and despair.

  Other images came, ones I could barely think about, like those people forcing Jamie to have sex with girls. I didn’t think it was even possible. If he couldn’t get hard, couldn’t perform, then they couldn’t force him to have sex that would make him feel ashamed. Maybe then, they sent him back to the room with the shocks.

  Desperate, I went back to the papers and continued reading.

  The program is structured using a balanced regimen of masculine reaffirmation, counseling sessions, and social activities. One of the main goals of the program is to allow our participants the opportunity to bond with other men in healthy and non-intimate relationships that help to replace one lacking between the participant and his father. Another goal of the program is to introduce men to social activities without the distraction of sexual attraction. Extensive bible study and prayer is also strongly encouraged.

  At first glance, it didn’t sound as horrible as I’d been imagining, but it still had to be a nightmare, spending all his time being told he was wrong, sinful, and abnormal. As I continued to read all the ignorant, hateful things those people, those so-called Christians, had to say about Jamie and me, I got angry. It would kill me if their brainwashing had robbed Jamie of who he was and turned him into some kind of soulless pseudo-heterosexual.

  When I wadded the papers up and threw them back in my bag, I saw the envelope with Jamie’s letter tucked safely into an inside pocket. His letter said that he loved me and that he thought of me every day he was in that place. Obviously, their perfectly balanced crap hadn’t worked on Jamie. It made me feel torn, though. I was ecstatic that he’d fought and hadn’t let them change him. Jamie was perfect just the way he was, but it hurt to think he’d spent almost a year alone with so-called Christians telling him he was going to burn in hell.

  Setting my backpack on the floor at my feet, I sighed and ran through the letter again in my head. He had written that he was leaving the center the day before because I’d turned eighteen. I didn’t understand the connection, but that made me wonder if he would go back to his parents. If he did, Mrs. Mayfield probably wouldn’t be pleased that the center’s cure hadn’t worked on her son. Maybe Jamie would pretend to be straight for them until he could get out on his own. Somehow, I didn’t think that would be the case. Jamie had never been able to lie to his mama. No matter what trouble we had gotten into, she could always read it on his face. The face I wished, with almost a physical need, I could touch right then, just to know that he was safe.r />
  Suddenly, the world seemed to fall away in a huge chasm, and I heard the boy from the seat in front of me telling “Mommy, Mommy” to “lookit, lookit.” The sun was riding low over an enormous body of water, not quite setting, and I watched the beauty of the undulating ripples. A sign caught my attention as we passed, naming the surrounding body Lake Pontchartrain. The voice came over the internal speakers to tell us about the newly reinforced bridge we were crossing courtesy of the state of Louisiana after the last devastating storm. While I was musing about Jamie, I had missed the fact that we’d left Mississippi and entered Louisiana. The terrain was all starting to look the same.

  The bridge spanned miles of the massive lake. It was nothing like the rivers I’d been to with Jamie. It never seemed to end. The water just fell off the earth at the edge of my line of vision, and I stared in wonder at its blue depths, distracting myself from the fact that I had spent the last few hours alternating between terrified and merely scared.

  After a while, the trees and greenery started to give way to the neighborhoods that signaled an approach to civilization. We were coming up on the New Orleans station, and in a way, I was glad because it would give me a chance to stretch my legs. My butt was numb from the constant vibrations of sitting on the bus for three hours, and I really wanted to use a toilet that wasn’t moving. My stomach rumbled, as if it knew a stop was close, reminding me that I also needed to eat. Carolyn had packed snacks in the cooler, but I wanted real food. Plus there would be long stretches with no breaks, and it’s silly but I wanted to make her last meal for me stretch a while.

  I was a little more than paranoid about missing my return time. It was just past six in the evening local time, and we would have forty-five minutes before the bus left for its next destination. Still, when the bus finally rolled to a stop, I couldn’t make myself get up.