Nate Mentor

Mentor's Boys

four short tales

Embracing The Void

I wasn't planning on posting this.
I wrote most of this before the holidays as a form of therapy. And while it didn't work all that well in that role, the fault was not in the story, but in myself. The tale holds up (after a little tweaking), and I think it's one of my better works. Hope you like it.

Summary

A solitary student of Buddhism meets a young boy, and discovers that not all attachments cause suffering.
(3,750 words / 7½ pages)
Nate (adult) and Nicky (10yo)
Mb – nosex

I woke up the way I always did. Alone.

This came as no real surprise, of course, as my small cabin barely sufficed for one person. But its simple elegance appealed to me, and I found it perfectly suited to my needs. It was private, located as it was at the less fashionable end of the beach, and therefore quiet. At this stage in my life, quiet and solitude were of paramount importance.

The small clock on my nightstand read 8:07, and I stumbled to the bathroom to wash the sleep from my eyes. The face in the mirror, crowned by short-cropped graying brown hair, did not entirely reflect my age, but the Van Dyke beard helped. The eyes… the eyes showed everything I'd experienced, etched into a haunted look in the light blue orbs.

I wandered back into the bedroom, and changed into my usual loose cotton shirt and trousers, snagging my rolled-up meditation mat from the corner. Before I fed my body, I needed to feed my soul. I walked down past the kitchen area and through the living room, weaving around the few pieces of furniture I still owned. After that, it was a simple matter to unlock the sliding door and step down the porch stairs.

The beach was fairly sparse at this end, only a few yards of sand between the rocks and the high tide line. Most considered it too small for fun and frolic, but I found it more than sufficient. I unrolled the mat, and dropped to my knees upon it, hands folded in my lap.

My ears filled with the gentle surf, and and I half-closed my eyes, letting my awareness drift as I began breathing from my diaphragm. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. I could feel my mind expanding, as my mind sought the void.

"Hey, Mister! Whatcha doin'." The high-pitched voice pierced my awareness, snapping me back to reality. I opened my eyes more fully, and found myself staring at a young boy. I'd always been horrible at ages, but he appeared to be beyond the baby fat stage, but not yet in adolescence. He wore a bright green shirt, a pair of somewhat garish blue shorts, and a dark blue baseball cap, which covered most of his dirty-blond hair.

"Minding my own business," I muttered. "Perhaps you might consider the same?"

The boy pouted. "I didn't mean anything by it, mister. Mrs. Potter at the Post Office told my mom that someone new had moved into the beach house, and I just wanted to say hi."

I remembered the Potter woman. A silver-haired old busybody who tried to pump me for personal information. Not the toughest interrogation I'd ever experienced, but certainly the most tedious. Still, it was not the boy's fault, and there was little harm in being neighborly.

I shifted my posture, allowing my legs to fold themselves into a full lotus. "My apologies, young man. You caught me by surprise. To answer your question, you might say I was 'knocking on heaven, and listening to the sound.'"

The boy smiled suddenly. "Oh! I know that movie! My mom took me to see it last winter!"

I had no idea what he was referring to, but then, I had never been much for mass media. I did not even own a television. I looked up at him, and grinned. "Please, sit down. You are making me feel short."

He giggled, and dropped to the sand. I saw him looking at my legs, and knew what was coming next. Not everyone could handle the lotus position, and he was not one of the few, even with the aid of his arms. As he pulled on a recalcitrant ankle, he rolled onto his back, knocking his hat loose.

I unfolded my legs and reached over to help him up, getting a close look at his face for the first time. For the most part, he seemed ordinary enough, but his eyes were the most unexpected shade of amber. We stared at each other for a moment, and his face grew quizzical.

I broke the gaze, and helped him get untangled, passing him his cap. "Thanks, mister, um…"

"Tremont. Nathan Tremont. My friends call me Nate." I replied.

He nodded, and I saw his lips form my name. "I'm Nicholas Tyler. But only my mom calls me that. Everybody else calls me Nicky."

"Well then, Nicky, it's a pleasure to meet you," I replied, extending a hand. As he reached to shake it, I pulled him to his feet. "Do you live nearby?"

Nicky shook his head, "Nossir. I live over by North Bethany. I rode my bike down the boardwalk." He pointed to a fairly new bicycle, leaning against the stairs.

"Ah, I see. Well, I don't mean to seem a rude host, but I do not usually entertain guests. Particularly before breakfast."

Nicky looked up at me. "S-s-sorry, Mister Tremont."

"No apologies needed, Nicky. You meant no harm by it."

He nodded, face downcast, and walked over to his bike. "N-nice to meet you, Mister Tremont."

I waved in acknowledgement, and watched him ride away, before turning back to my empty home. After a light breakfast, I returned to my studies, spending the remainder of the day reading some new texts, breaking only for some leftover rice, before a quick shower and an early bedtime.

The next morning started out much the same, I rose around 8:00, washed my face, and headed back outside. The boy, Nicky, was waiting on the porch. He was dressed much as he had been the day before, except the T-shirt was orange this time.

"Morning, Mister Tremont!" he called. I closed my eyes, and pinched the bridge of my nose.

"Hello, Nicky," I replied, trying my best to seem gracious. "May I help you?"

He bobbed his head, knocking his cap loose. "I told my Mom about you yesterday, and she said you were prolly medi-, um, medicating?"

"Meditating, yes. It is what I do."

"Yeah, meditating. It sounded sorta interesting, so I thought maybe you could show it to me? Please?"

He looked at me with what looked to be a well-practiced puppy-dog expression, and while I didn't buy it for a minute, I remembered something Master Tomisaburo once said:

"The best way to learn what is unknown is to teach what is known."

I shrugged, and opened the door. "I suppose I could show you the basics. Please, come in."

He walked past me into the living room, and his eyes widened as he saw the sword rack over the fireplace. "Are those real?"

"Indeed they are. A matched set, made for me by a friend of my teacher."

He turned to me, a question in his eyes. I gently shook my head. "They are not toys, Nicky, but weapons. And I keep them quite sharp."

His shoulders sagged, imperceptibly. After a moment's thought, I continued. "But perhaps, later on, I could show them to you. So long as you promised not to touch them."

His face broke into a wide smile. "I promise! Cross my heart and everything!"

"Very well, then. But first, I think some breakfast is in order. Would you like some toast? Or maybe juice?"

Nicky pursed his lips. "I'm kinda thirsty. Do you have any apple juice?"

I smiled. "As it happens, I'm quite fond of it. One glass, coming up."

He thanked me as I handed him the chilled glass, and we started to talk. I learned he was 10 years old, and due to start middle school in the fall. Actually, once he started going, it was difficult to get him to stop, and I soon learned his favorite books, hobbies, and flavor of ice cream (cookies & cream, as it happened).

"And what do your parents do?" I asked, as I carried my plate to the sink.

Nicky didn't reply, and I turned back to see him staring at his shoes, face serious.

"Nicky?"

He shuddered a bit. "My mom works for the DA. My dad… my dad was a soldier."

I caught the change in verb tense. "I'm sorry, Nicky."/p>

"It's OK, Mister Tremont," he replied, only a slight sniffle showing his emotion. "He died when I was a little kid."

Words failed me. I reached over with one arm and gave him a quick hug. He looked up. "He woulda liked you, I think."

"And I'm sure I would have liked him," I replied "Particularly if he was anything like his son." Nicky snuggled closer, tense with emotion, and I could only hold him awkwardly in response. We stayed that way for a few minutes, neither moving nor speaking, until I felt the boy relax.

"Come now, Nicky," I said at last. "As I recall, I promised you a demonstration. I assume you are still interested?"

He twisted under my arm to look up at me questioningly, and I glanced towards the rack on the mantelpiece. His eyes widened, and he wormed free of my arm, almost bouncing to his feet. With a chuckle, I slipped off my stool and followed him to the fireplace.

Nicky's eyes bored into my back as I carefully lifted the katana from its hooks. I turned to face him, the sword balanced in my palms. With a sudden twist, I turned over my left hand, allowing my right to grasp the hilt. I looked over at Nicky, who was holding his breath in anticipation. With well-practiced ease, I drew my hands apart, allowing the blade to slide free with the quietest of tings.

"Cool," Nicky murmured. I merely grinned, and began the kata known as 'The Nine Steps To The Sun'. His jaw dropped as I spun, slicing down imaginary opponents with (if I do say so myself) a decent amount of skill.

I modified the conclusion on the fly, so that rather than sheathing the blade anew, I ended in a kneeling position before my rapt audience, blade resting on my left arm. Nicky glanced at me, and I nodded. He clasped his hands behind his back (to keep his promise, I assumed) and leaned over to take a closer look.

"This blade is called 'Evening Light'," I recited, "One of the last blades made by the great swordsmith Onihashi, along with its younger brother, 'Evening Shadow'. Few blades can be called its equal."

Nicky's breath fogged the blade, revealing the character engraved on it. "What's that mean, Mister Tremont?"

"That's the Japanese symbol ku, meaning 'the void'. It is both nothing, and everything."

Nicky blinked. "I don't get it."

I laughed, as I sheathed the blade properly. "Neither did I, when it was explained to me. But if you still want to, I would be happy to teach you more."

Nicky nodded in assent, "Yessir, Mister Tremont."

I grinned. "Then your first lesson is: Stop calling me Mister Tremont. I told you before, my friends call me Nate."

Nicky blushed. "S-sorry, Nate."

"Much better. Now, if you grab one of the cushions from the couch, we can begin."

He did so, and I helped him kneel in the proper posture.

"Lesson number two is: how to breathe."

"I'm pretty sure I know how to do that already, Miste-"

I raised a finger.

"Nate! I meant to say Nate!" Nicky was blushing again. He clearly had a hair-trigger.

"Of course you do. But most people breathe from here," I tapped his chest, "and not from here"

I poked his belly button, and he giggled.

"Watch, and copy what I do."

Nicky proved to be an apt pupil, and picked up the basics fairly quickly. I was about to start him on something a bit more advanced when Nicky glanced at the clock.

"Oh no!" he cried.

"Nicky?" I questioned.

"I promised my mom I'd be home for lunch. I gotta go!"

I nodded. "Do what you must, Nicky. It will be all right."

"Can I come back tomorrow? Please?"

I paused for a moment longer than was absolutely necessary, just to make him squirm a bit. Then I grinned.

"Of course you can, my boy. I'd like that."

He broke into a sunny grin. "Cool! I'll see you then!"

Then, like a sudden storm, he swept from the room, leaving silence behind. I straightened the room, and picked up one of the texts I'd been studying, thinking about the future.

True to his word, Nicky was waiting for me the next morning, and the next. I soon discovered, once again, how wise my sensei had been, as seeing the basic concepts of his teachings through the wide eyes of a child taught me as much as I was teaching him.

It did not take long for me to start to look forward to our lessons, and my fondness for the boy to grow. Particularly one morning, about a week and a half later, when Nicky delivered some news. The weather was starting to heat up, and we were relaxing on the porch with cold glasses of apple juice. Nicky was crunching on an ice cube, and I glanced at the angle of the sun.

"I hate to say this, Nicky, but isn't it about time for you to leave? I know your mother likes you home for lunch."

Nicky smiled, and reached down to his backpack, pulling out a foil-wrapped square. "I got it covered. Mom's been really busy at the office the last few weeks, and she's almost never home for lunch."

His smile turned into a grin. "She also said there are prolly fewer things to break in your house."

I rolled my eyes, trying my best (with limited success) to look offended. But my lips betrayed me, as they twitched with pleasure. "I suppose you'll just have to stay with boring old me all day." I sighed.

To my surprise, Nicky jumped up and gave me a fierce hug. "You ain't boring, Nate," he murmured, face buried in my chest. "You're my bestest friend."

I had to return the hug, pulling him onto my lap in a more comfortable position. "Likewise, my boy."

He snuggled closer, and I got a whiff of something strange. "What is that?" I wondered aloud.

"I bet I know!" Nicky groaned. "My mom makes me use this special shampoo her hairdresser recommended. It smells like a tea shop."

I stuck my nose in his hair and snorted, making him giggle. "Ah yes, so it does."

I shifted my grip, and stood, causing Nicky to yelp in surprise and drop his lunch. With my free hand, I neatly plucked it out of the air. "Let's go inside and eat. OK?"

Nicky nuzzled against my neck, murmuring his assent. For the rest of the day, we merely sat and talked, discussing what we had learned. More often than not, Nicky was sitting right next to me, curled under my arm, and I had to admit it felt very comfortable. For the first time in a long time, I wondered if I'd made the right choice to walk alone.

Finally, the sun began to sink in the west, and it was time for him to go. I walked him to his bike, arm across his shoulders (and his arm around my hips), and watched him ride away down the road.

The next morning, I bounded out of bed early, and (after my morning ablutions) prepared a glass of juice for my pupil. As the clock ticked towards our usual starting time, I strode quickly to the door and slid it open.

To see an empty porch. I looked up and down the beach, but there was no sign of him. "Maybe he overslept?" I asked myself. Placing the glass on a side table, I sat on the porch and waited. And waited.

And waited.

The sun climbed to its zenith, and I still waited. My mind whirled with possibilities, and I waited.

The day drew to a close, and I slowly stood and trudged inside, wondering what I had done wrong. That night, I lay awake, going over every minute we'd spent together the day before, looking for a sign. A mistake. Anything.

The next day, bleary with lack of sleep, I stumbled back to the front door, not even bothering to get dressed. All that awaited me was the sticky glass of juice I'd abandoned the day before. I dumped it out on the sand, and carried it to the sink, rinsing it out and letting it dry. Then I sat in my chair and started to wait again. The day passed glacially slowly, as I sat torpid in my living room, arising only when my body required my attention. The next day was much the same. And the day after. And the day after that. The only variant was the temperature, as the mercury climbed to uncomfortable levels, not that I noticed or cared.

Finally, the heat broke, as the skies opened up and drenched the shore in a rare summer squall. As I was already short on sleep, the noise of the pounding rain on my roof proved to be the last straw, and I lay on my bed twitching with discomfort. Finally, as the sky lightened above the clouds, I forced myself to stand, and wandered aimlessly to the living room, accompanied by the staccato rhythm of the storm.

I looked at the shorter of my two swords, and wondered how it would feel against my stomach. There was a sudden lull in the downpour, as if the world was holding its breath. I reached out, ready to turn theory into practice, when I heard a quiet tapping on the sliding door.

I turned, and Nicky was standing there, looking like a drowned cat. My heart leapt into my throat as I dashed over, tripping over an ottoman in my headlong rush. I ripped open the door and took him into my arms.

"'m all wet." he mumbled.

"I don't care," I replied, voice thick. I pulled him inside and squeezed him tighter.

"C-can't breathe," he gasped. I carefully let him go, afraid that if I went too far away, he'd vanish. But he was real. Soaked to the bone, but real. He looked up at me, through sodden bangs.

"I missed you."

I could only nod in agreement as I thumped into a chair. Finally, my mouth reconnected to my brain. "What happened?"

Nicky slumped next to me, and looked up into my face.

"After I left you last time, I stopped by the library to check out one of those books we talked about," he began. "The librarian was really nice, and she pointed out some other books I could read too."

His eyes grew moist, and it wasn't due to the rain. "When I left, someone had stolen my bike!"

I cuddled him close. "I'm so sorry, Nicky." He snuggled against me, nose wrinkling slightly.

"The day after, I asked mom if I could walk here, but she said it was getting too hot. And it kept getting hotter." He sniffled. "I had to come today. I just HAD to."

"I'm glad you did, my boy. So very glad." I glanced at the sword rack, and shivered. Actually, Nicky was shivering too, but not due to emotion. I stood him up.

"We have to get you out of those wet things. Your mother would kill me if I let you catch a cold. Go take a hot shower while I put your clothes in the dryer."

Nicky nodded, and started to strip.

"Not here!" I cried, grinning slightly. "Go into the bathroom. You can just toss the clothes out as you go. I'll find something you can wear."

Nicky grinned. "You'd better take one too. You're stinky!" He giggled, and ran to the bathroom, trailing water and merriment. As damp garments flew out the bathroom door, I rummaged through my drawers, finally settling on an old karate gi top. It had fairly short sleeves, and while it would be long on him, it would at least preserve his modesty. I carefully peered into the bathroom, and saw Nicky behind the frosted glass of the shower door, singing some tuneless melody as the warm spray filled the room with steam.

"I'll just leave this by the sink, Nicky!" I called. He yelled a quick thanks and continued his warming up process. A short time later, he stepped out, wrapped in the over-sized top.

"Your turn!" he announced. "But I think I used up all the hot water."

I shrugged, mussing his damp hair as I passed by. "Grab what you want from the fridge, I won't be long."

He straightened his hair with a look of mild annoyance, and wandered over to the kitchen area. I grabbed my clothes and took his place in the now humid bathroom. The shower was indeed cold, but it helped shock my brain back into function.

A short time later, freshly bathed and shaved, I returned to the living room, where Nicky was lying face-down on the floor, ankles crossed above him, engrossed in a book.

"Tell me, grasshopper," I intoned, in a bad Keye Luke impersonation, "What wisdom have you uncovered?"

Nicky looked up quizzically, and I gave him my goofiest smile. He scooted over, and we spent the rest of the morning discussing what he'd been able to glean from the books, as well as some of the texts in my own library. The only pause was around noon, when the dryer dinged and Nicky redressed himself in my bedroom.

When he returned, I handed him a PBJ and a glass of milk. He looked up at me, puzzled.

"I peeked in your bag, and saw you forgot to bring lunch," I replied. "Bad Nicky."

He pouted, somewhat unconvincingly, and I pulled him into a quick hug. By the time we finished eating, the rain had finally stopped, and the skies began to clear. The ground was damp, so I pulled out an old blanket, and we sat together on the beach, watching the waves roll in. As Nicky snuggled under my arm, I realized one truth.

No matter what tomorrow would bring, I did not have to face it alone.

The Tiger's Boy

Truth? Legend? Who can say?

Summary

A short fairy tale about a young boy seeking for his place in the world.
1,750 words (3½ pages)
A boy (13yo)
b – nosex

Many moons ago, when the Emperor still reigned, there was a village. Not a particularly poor village, nor a rich one. Just an average village, with cows, and geese, and fields of green and gold. When bandits came, the villagers closed their doors, until they went away.

In this village lived a boy. He was neither tall nor short, dark nor fair. There was nothing remarkable about him at all, as a matter of fact. Like his neighbors, he gathered crops, fed the geese, and milked the cows, until 13 summers had passed. On that anniversary of his birth, he stood before his parents, a man in name if not in stature.

"Mother. Father. In the eyes of the village, I am now a man. Although I will always love you, and treat you with honor, I feel my destiny is to become a warrior, so that I may defend you when age has withered your limbs."

His mother put a hand to her mouth, lost for words. His father merely gazed at him, until, at last, he nodded.

"My son, I am but a simple farmer, as was my father, and his father, and all the fathers before them. I cannot teach you to be a warrior, only how to till the fields and mend the fences. But you are still my son, and if this is the road you choose to walk, know that your mother and I will support you all we can."

He wrapped the youth in a bearlike hug, until the air had left his lungs. The lad turned to his mother, who, wiping tears from her eyes, gave him a much more genteel embrace. They spoke long into the night, and when the rooster crowed, the young man stood at the front door of his home, a staff in his hand, a purse at his waist, and a bundle of food on his back. His father stood beside him, gazing at the rising sun.

"When you leave the village, head north. It is written that a wise teacher lives among the reeds of the Great Lake. Perhaps he can teach you what I cannot."

The youth nodded, and, dashing tears from his eyes, strode purposefully towards his destiny. For many days he walked, through howling winds and driving rain, until, at last, he found himself at the shores of a broad blue lake, glittering in the noontime sun.

"I have come to learn how to become a warrior, so that I may protect my family, when age has withered their limbs. Can you teach me?"

There was a rustling among the reeds. As the boy watched, a huge tortoise rose from the depths, water pouring from its shell in a great cascade. The beast turned its head, creased with wisdom, and faced the lad.

"You were wise to seek me out, for I can teach you much. For I am the Master of the North, and I can teach you Tradition."

The boy nodded. Truly, this ancient creature would make him strong. He knelt, and listened, as the master went on:

"I can teach you the 36 Chambers. The 97 Steps. And the 108 Strikes. Through repetition and precision, you will learn as I did, so many many years ago. As it was, so it will ever be."

At this, the traveler's heart sank. The Master taught Stagnation, not Tradition.

"Great Master of the North, I fear you are not the teacher I need. Do you, perhaps, know of another?"

The great beast glared at him, and with a snap of his jaws, shattered the young man's staff. "You are not worthy of my wisdom. Leave me now, and follow the river to the sea. There, among the waves, you may find your fate."

The boy stood, and bowed, and did as he was bid. For many days he walked, through soaking rains and driving hail, until he came at last to a craggy rock, overlooking the sea.

"I have come to learn how to become a warrior, so that I may protect my family, when age has withered their limbs. Can you teach me?"

The waves swirled into a great maelstrom, and two green eyes flickered in the darkness. As the boy quaked with fear, a sinuous dragon emerged, bedecked in shining scales.

"You were wise to seek me out, for I can teach you much. For I am the Master of the East, and I can teach you Glory."

The boy nodded. Truly, this wondrous creature would make him strong. He knelt, and listened, as the master went on:

"I can show you how to win belts, and medals, and trophies covered in gems. With every new victory, you will gain more and more fame."

At this, the traveler's heart sank. The Master taught Vanity, not Glory.

"Great Master of the East, I fear you are not the teacher I need. Do you, perhaps, know of another?"

The dragon glared at him, and with a swipe of his claw, tore the purse from his belt. "You are not worthy of my splendor. Leave me now, and follow the hills to the mountains. there, among the peaks, you may find your fate."

The boy stood, and bowed, and did as he was bid. For many days he walked, through scorching sun and humid mists, until he came at last to a wind-swept cave.

"I have come to learn how to become a warrior, so that I may protect my family, when age has withered their limbs. Can you teach me?"

There was a piercing cry, and the youth cowered in fear. A shadow covered the sun, and he looked up to see a great eagle, with a beak like a sickle and talons like spears, perched before him.

"You were wise to seek me out, for I can teach you much. For I am the Master of the South, and I can teach you Strength."

The boy nodded. Truly, this mighty creature would make him strong. He knelt, and listened, as the master went on:

"I can show you how to crush all who stand before you and drive them from their lands, so that you may take them for your own. All will fear you, and speak of you with respect."

At this, the traveler's heart sank. The Master taught Anger, not Strength.

"Great Master of the South, I fear you are not the teacher I need. Do you, perhaps, know of another?"

The eagle glared at him, and with a gust from his wings, knocked him off the cliff, scattering the food from his pack. "You are not worthy of my power. Leave me now, and follow the trail to the forest. there, among the trees, you may find your fate."

The boy stood, and bowed, and did as he was bid. For many days he walked, through pangs of hunger and aching pain, until at last he came to a dim clearing, amidst the towering trees. Weak from lack of food, he whispered.

"I have come to learn how to become a warrior, so that I may protect my family, when age has withered their limbs. Can you teach me?"

There was silence. Tears in his eyes, the boy cried out, "I have been shown Tradition, and Glory, and Strength, and found them wanting. Please, if you are there, speak to me!"

A deep rumbling chuckle echoed from the tree-line, and a ghost-white tiger stepped into view.

"You were unwise to seek me out, for I can teach you nothing. For I am the Master of the West, and I am HUNGRY."

The boy nodded. If this was his fate, so be it. He knelt, and waited. The master looked at him, golden eyes twinkling with amusement.

"You are brave. I will grant you that. But I cannot teach you, for you have already learned the most important lessons. From the North, you learned the value of Flexibility. From the East, you learned the value of Humility. And from the South, you learned the value of Tranquility. With an agile body, a gentle heart, and a peaceful mind, you already have the tools you need to walk the path of the warrior."

The youth blinked. "You will not eat me?"

There was another rumbling chuckle. "You are far too lean a meal. Go, and walk your path, young warrior."

"But I do not know where to go!" the novice cried. "I do not even know the first step!"

The master smiled, baring his fangs. "If you like, you can walk along with me for a while, until you are ready to walk alone."

The boy looked up, as the Master continued:

"But not as you are. It is a wild path I trod, and there will be many dangers ahead. Come, and stand before me."

The boy stood, and bowed, and did as he was bid. With a swipe of his paw, the tiger tore the boy's shirt from his body, baring him to the world. Only four shallow scratches marked his chest.

"There," the Master replied, with a look of satisfaction. "I have marked you as mine. All will know you are the Tiger's Boy, and leave you at peace. And now, let us begin."

For many days, they walked, through sun and fog, through wind and rain. And, as the seasons passed, the boy grew in wisdom and skill, until the time came for him to walk alone. He embraced the master one last time, and turned his steps toward home.

Many moons ago, when the Emperor still reigned, there was a village. Not a particularly poor village, nor a rich one. Just an average village, with cows, and geese, and fields of green and gold. When bandits came, the villagers closed their doors, until they went away.

All save for one, who stood in the road, bare-chested. And when the bandits saw the thin scars on his chest, they turned away, and left him at peace, until the end of his days. Some say, however, that the Master of the West still walks his wild path, and other boys have been granted his mark.

But that is a tale for another day.

An Unexpected Break

Just something I've been working on for a few days. Parts of it were cannibalized from other abandoned projects, but as a whole, I rather like it. It's very cathartic.

Summary

An overworked engineer has an encounter with his new neighbors, which leads to a blossoming and affectioNate friendship between him and the son.
5,250 words (10½ pages)
Nate Mentor and Daniel (11yo)
Mb – nosex

'Work' is, without a doubt, my least favorite 4-letter word.

In all fairness, however, it's not the work itself that gets to me. It can be difficult, and at times downright frustrating, but I do enjoy the challenge of it. It's the things (and people) I cannot control that make it truly onerous.

On this particular Friday, after 9 hours of wrestling software into submission, I was ready for a nice long weekend of doing nothing in particular. I turned off my monitor and stood, reaching for my lunch bag on its customary hook, when the smell of stale cigarettes wafted up my nostrils. My heart sank.

"Hey, Champ. Got a minute?"

I turned to face my erstwhile boss, a greasy little weasel named Niles Lamb. Despite the fact that he was almost a decade younger than me, his extra pounds and receding hairline made him look older. And a handful of years of seniority made him think he was smarter, too.

He wasn't. But I was far too paranoid to tell him so.

"Yes, Mr. Lamb. One moment." I rehung my bag, and followed him to his office.

Ninety minutes later, after a few minor miracles and far too much micro-management, I trudged to my car, a late-model Honda coupe. No surprise, it was one of the few vehicles left in the parking lot, as most everyone else had managed an early start on the weekend. By sheer force of will, I managed to stay awake for the drive home, aided in some small part by irksome drivers who seemed unable to comprehend the concepts of 'speed limits', 'turn signals', or 'merging'.

I turned into the housing complex, cursing quietly in a random assortment of languages, some real, some fictional, only to find that someone had taken my parking spot. Indeed, said vehicle, a truck from a moving company I'd never heard of, had not only taken my spot, but was parked horizontally across an entire row of spaces. Several jumpsuit-clad figures were carrying boxes and bundles up the stairs to the second unit in my duplex apartment, one that had remained blessedly empty for some time.

I sat behind the wheel and watched them for a few minutes, but there was no indication that they would be moving soon, so, grumbling further imprecations, I drove down to the next section of the lot, some 75 yards away, and found an unused space by the communal dumpster.

As the sun sank below the horizon, I finally entered the sparsely decorated apartment that had been my home for the past five years. I pulled some leftover rice from the fridge, nuking it into edibility, and sat in the living room to watch, or at least stare at, the TV.

Once again, however, reality conspired against me, as the continual chorus of footsteps, shuffling furniture, and half-comprehensible conversation made it impossible to focus on the screen, and each new sound served merely to darken my mood further. Finally, at 9PM, I gave up, and shut everything down, retiring to my room where I buried my head under the pillows until sleep finally brought blessed relief.

The morning sun was just peeking through the blinds when I found myself pulled awake by a rhythmic thumping noise. Eyes bleary, I tried to deduce its origin.

Was it the heating system? Of course not. It was far too warm for that. And that was more mechanical sounding.

Was it music? No, not that either. The sound lacked the harmonics of a good bass line, and the tempo was too low.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes. The thump came again, and I tilted my head to ascertain the source. It almost sounded like it was coming from outs-…

There was a sharp crack, and the Venetian blinds burst outwards, as a dark projectile crashed through the window, narrowly missing my head as it rebounded off the wall and spun off into the middle of the room. "WHAT THE HELL!" I roared, scared out of my wits.

As my heart raced, I could hear the pattering of rushing footsteps, and the slam of a door upstairs. At last, there was blessed silence, marred only by the tinkle of glass shards falling from the windowpane. I carefully turned on the lamp to see a handball resting amidst the wreckage.

About an hour later, having successfully negotiated my way to the kitchen without injury and consumed my usual light breakfast, I was cleaning up the detritus in my bedroom when I heard my doorbell ring. I dumped the final load of glass into the trash can and stalked over to the front door, wrenching it open.

"What!" I scowled.

"Mr. Mentor?" my visitor, a buxom woman of middle age, inquired. Her blond hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, and she looked about as tired as I felt.

"Yes. What is it?" I muttered.

"My name is Lily Beaumont, and this," she stepped to the side, "is my son, Daniel."

I looked down, and found myself staring at a preadolescent boy with the expression of a condemned prisoner. He looked up nervously, biting his lower lip.

"Daniel has something to say," Lily added.

I looked at him expectantly. He shuffled back and forth for a few minutes, before lifting his head and gazing at me with surprisingly warm brown eyes. He took a deep breath.

"I was playing catch with myself and the ball bounced wrong and I broke your window and I know I'm gonna get grounded, but I'm really really sorry and I promise not to do it again so don't be mad at me mister, please?"

He stopped, panting. We stared at each other in silence, and I finally responded. "Apology accepted, young man. I appreciate your honesty in admitting your responsibility."

He smiled slightly, unsure of what was next. I turned to face his mother.

"Don't be too hard on him, Mrs. Beaumont. I was young myself. Once. Many many moons ago."

She giggled at this, sounding surprisingly girlish. "Miss, actually. But you can call me Lily."

"Only if you call me Nate," I responded, long-unused programs for neighborliness coming online at last.

"Very well, Nate. It may take some time, but I insist on paying for the window."

I shrugged, waving one hand dismissively. "That won't be necessary, Lily. When I moved in, I splurged for the renter's insurance. It should cover this, easily."

She paused, chewing her lip in the exact fashion her son had earlier. "I still want to repay you for your trouble, somehow. Would you like to have dinner with us tonight? I was going to make Beef Stroganoff, and there's always enough for an extra bowl."

Beside her, Daniel shuffled his feet, and shyly chimed in "My mom is a great cook. All my friends say so. At least they used to…"

His voice broke, and he turned away. Lily looked down at him with a mixture of concern and affection. "You can go upstairs now, Daniel. I'll be right up."

He dashed off, and she turned to face me. "The move was hard on him. But we just had to get away, for both of our sakes."

I nodded. "Moving can be a very stressful time, particularly for a child. But based on his glowing endorsement, I accept your invitation."

"Great!" she beamed. "Dinner is at 5. You don't have to dress up."

"I'll be there," I promised. "Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes?" she replied, eyes puzzled.

I reached into my pocket, and pulled out the handball. "You can give this back to Daniel. It clashes with my decor."

I grinned at her, and she smiled back. "See you at 5!"

She flounced up the stairs, and I returned to my empty apartment. After straightening up the bedroom and blocking the broken pane with a backing board from my last comics shipment, I retired to the living room for a lazy morning of rest & relaxation.

I turned on the stereo, and sat in my favorite chair, gazing over the bookshelves with a practiced eye as one of my favorite singers began to muse about real life and fantasy. Unconsciously, I reached out and grabbed a pen from the end table, spinning it idly around my fingers.

Predictably, I fell asleep.

When my eyes fluttered open once more, the clock on the entertainment center read 4:25. At first, my sleep-fuddled brain wondered why it was so bright, so early, until my higher brain functions kicked in, and I remembered what I'd been invited to this evening.

I half-ran, half-stumbled to the bathroom. After a cold shower and a quick shave, I looked presentable, if not exactly attractive. Passing the large mirror in the bedroom, I sighed. A sedentary life had made me lose the six-pack of my youth. Currently, it resembled more a pony keg.

I shrugged, and pulled fresh clothes from the appropriate drawers and closets. Recalling Lily's instructions, I selected a more casual outfit of a V-neck shirt and slacks, what my sister used to call 'Simon Cowell drag'.

Then again, she used to like disco. I have proof.

Slightly after 5, I locked my door and ascended to the unit above. There was a muffled shout and a clatter of footsteps, before the door finally opened, to reveal the scrubbed and combed features of young Daniel.

"Mom! It's Mr. Mentor!" he shouted. I heard an exasperated sigh in response.

"Let him in, Daniel," his mother's voice finally replied. Daniel tensed slightly and stepped back, "Please come in, sir."

I grinned at him, "Why thank you, my good man!"

He looked up at me, eyes quizzical. I winked at him and stepped inside. The upstairs unit was almost identical to mine in layout, save only for a few shifted walls, but I was surprised to see the transformation Lily had wrought in such a brief time. As I followed Daniel to the kitchen, I could see the small touches (a throw pillow here, a photo there) that transformed a house into a home. There was even a drawing of a Viking (Daniel's work, by the scrawled name) affixed to the refrigerator.

It all felt very warm and welcoming, and despite myself, I started to relax.

Lily came bustling out, wiping her hands on a towel. "Nate! Welcome to our home!"

I walked over to shake her hand. "Sorry I'm late…" I began, only to find myself wrapped in her fairly substantial embrace.

"Nonsense! You are just in time!" she cried, squeezing me joyfully. I shrugged inwardly and hugged her back. We broke the embrace, and she led me to the table, where her son had already seated himself, a look of irritated hunger in his eyes. I took the proffered chair, and was soon served with a heaping serving of Stroganoff on a bed of egg noodles. Not wanting to seem rude, I waited for Lily to serve the lad and herself before digging in.

He had been mistaken. His mother wasn't a good cook. She was a GREAT cook. And I brooked no delay in telling her so, and was rewarded with her blushing. But after two servings, I found myself needing a break.

I glanced at the refrigerator briefly, before turning to the boy and asking "Danny? Could you please pass the water?"

Danny looked over at me, shocked. "How'd you know I…"

"Three reasons," I intoned, holding up three fingers. "First: You are what… ten, eleven?"

"Eleven and a half!" he affirmed. "Well, nearly…"

"Eleven and a half," I amended. "And you don't look like a 'Daniel'. It is far too formal."

I folded my ring finger. "Second: I saw your face when your mom called you Daniel. Not a fan?"

He blushed, and looked over at his mom, who had a mixture of curiosity and affection on her face. "Naw, not really," he muttered, "but it's ok if she does it."

"Of course, of course" I responded. "And finally, three:" I folded my middle finger, and pointed over his head. He turned, and saw his picture on the refrigerator.

"Danny the Barbarian. A self-portrait, I take it?" I grinned.

He blushed even redder, while his mother giggled. "Amazing, Mentor!" she replied, affecting a stuffy British accent.

"Elementary, my dear Beaumont." Even Danny laughed at that one.

"Actually," I continued, "Your drawing reminds me of a story I heard once, back in college. Would you like to hear it?"

Danny bobbed his head. "Yessir, Mr. Mentor."

"When I was in college, I belonged to a group called the SCA…" I began. Danny's eyes never left my face, as I told the tale of some SCA fighters, and a post-practice meal.

"…he looked down at the coin. Looked up at the cashier. Looked down at the coin again. Looked up again. Took a deep breath."

I inhaled. "'COOKED!!!"

Lily and Danny cracked up, their laughter filling the kitchen. Finally, Lily stopped, wiping tears from her eyes. Danny followed suit moments later. "Do you have any other stories like that, Mr. Mentor?"

I nodded, and, as Lily prepared dessert, launched into another tale. Danny proved to be an attentive audience, and I continued to regale him with yarns from my past, pausing only when his mother placed a wonderful-smelling piece of Tollhouse pie in front of me.

And even then, I talked around bites of pie and ice cream.

Finally, however, I ran out of pie, and was running short on stories, as well. The sky beyond the kitchen window had grown dark, and I feared I'd overstayed my welcome. With only a slight delay due to a full stomach, I stood.

"Thank you, Lily, for an excellent meal. But it has been a long day, and I believe it is time for me to g-"

"Mom!" Danny interrupted.

"Daniel!" she snapped, voice sharp.

"Can Mr. Mentor please stay and watch a movie with us?" he continued.

She looked over at me, and I shrugged slightly. "Only if he agrees." she replied.

Danny turned to me, eyes welling with well-practiced cuteness. "Pleeeease! It'll be fun!"

"I think I can manage a couple more hours," I answered, surrendering to the inevitable.

"YAY!" Danny shouted, almost leaping from his chair.

"Go brush your teeth and change for bed. We'll be waiting for you in the living room."

Danny bobbed his head, and dashed down the hall. She watched him go, before turning back to me, a serious look on her face.

"Nate, I want you to know that I have no concerns about the fact that you are gay."

I blinked. "Um… I'm not gay, Lily."

"Bi, then," she responded.

"I'm not bisexual, either. " I replied. "May I ask why you thought I was?"

She shrugged. "Because, when we met, you looked at my face, not my tits. I figured you couldn't possibly be straight."

I grinned. "You figured correctly. I'm neither gay nor straight. I'm asexual."

"Oh!" she cried, "I heard about that. But you don't wear the black ring?"

"Never found one that fits these mitts," I answered, spreading my fingers wide in demonstration. "Anyway, I don't advertise it much."

She nodded. "In any case, I trust you. I have a sixth sense about these things, and it has only failed me once."

It was pretty simple to connect the dots. "Danny's father?"

"I prefer the term 'sperm donor'," she said, face dark. "He will never have a role in Daniel's life again."

I reached over and gave her a quick hug. "I'm sorry, Lily."

She leaned into the hug for a moment, before pulling away. "We'd better get going. Daniel gets quite upset if movie night is delayed."

"Of course, what nearly eleven and a half boy wouldn't?"

She tittered quietly, and we adjourned to the main room. True to her word, Danny was already perched on the couch, bouncing with excitement in his blue PJs. "Sit by me, Mr. Mentor!" he cried, as his mother sat in one of the chairs.

I plopped down next to him, as he prodded the remote, bringing up a film I'd meant to see but never had the chance, called SUPER 8. As the film rolled on, capturing my attention, my fingers idly fiddled with his hair. Slowly, he wormed his way under my arm, until he was leaning against my chest, half-awake.

By the end of the film (which was better than I'd expected), he was sprawled across my lap, dead to the world. I looked over to Lily, who nodded. Carefully, trying not to wake him, I lifted him into my arms, and followed his mother to his room (which happened to be the equivalent of mine downstairs), where she turned down the sheets so I could lay him in bed.

"Sweet dreams, Danny," I whispered, as I worked my arms free.

"G'night Dad," he muttered, wriggling into the pillow. I stepped back, alarmed.

"He's tired," I murmured to Lily. "He forgot who I was."

She nodded. "That must be it."

I followed her to the front door. "Thank you for coming," she whispered.

"The pleasure was all mine," I responded, bending over to kiss her on the forehead. "Good night."

"Night."

I slowly walked downstairs, and let myself into my apartment. My Spartan, almost unfurnished apartment. With a deep sigh, I stripped off my clothes, and crawled into bed, thinking of the home over my head.

The following morning, at around 9:30, I pulled on an old pair of sweats and a T-shirt, and prepared to go grocery shopping. As I stepped from my door, I found myself confronted by a cherubic youngster, engrossed in what sounded like a cutthroat game of Angry Birds.

I cleared my throat, and Danny looked up. "Hi, Mister Mentor!"

"Hello, Danny. What brings you out at this hour?"

"Huh?"

"When I was your age, I slept until at least noon on Sundays. That was the fun of it," I grinned.

"Ohhhh!" he replied. "Mom told me to get some fresh air while she did the laundry. She said she'd get more done without me helping."

"Entirely possible. I was about to go shopping. Would you like to come with?"

"Cool! Let me ask Mom!" He dashed upstairs, and was back before I could dig out my keys. "All set. Mom said that as long as we were back by lunch, it would be 'aces with me'. Do you know what that means?"

I nodded. "It means we had better hit the road."

With Danny in tow, I marched across the lot to my Honda, triggering the door locks once we were in range. As was my wont, I opened the door for him first, watching carefully to ensure I didn't clip him in the arm when I closed it shut.

I sat behind the wheel and turned on the engine, drawing the seatbelt across my lap before the usual chime grew too insistent. I turned to help Danny, only to find he'd already strapped himself in.

"Mom won't leave until all belts are fastened," Danny remarked, correctly interpreting my look of surprise.

"Your mother is a very smart woman," I replied, as I carefully put the car in reverse. Danny grinned.

"And her son is pretty sharp too," I added, and was rewarded with a fierce blush.

"I'm nothin' special," Danny mumbled.

"I choose to disagree. And I'm older than you are, so I'm almost certainly right."

Danny rolled his eyes, and settled back into his seat. The local market had been squeezed out a few years back by the empire of Wal-Mart, leaving us with two options… drive 15 miles to the next town over, or settle for the Mart's prices.

As a man of simple tastes & diet, I chose to settle. Hence, it was about 10 minutes later that we parked in the parking lot, and snagged one of the wild carriages roaming free in the summer breeze.

Danny acquitted himself well as my wingman, helping out by fetching peanut butter and applesauce while I waited for my deli order. Indeed, there was only one moment where his resolve to help crumbled, as we rolled toward the bread aisle.

I turned down the aisle to fetch some bulkie rolls, when a sixth sense told me that Danny had left my side. Slightly panicked, I whirled about, only to see him standing in front of a Hostess display, gazing longingly at the wares.

I walked over, and tapped him gently on the arm. "Problem, champ?"

He looked up, eyes wistful. "I used to love Twinkies. We all would go to the State Fair, and I'd gorge myself on them. But then my dad… well… he changed. And we didn't go out anymore."

I wrapped my arm around his shoulders, cuddling him tight. "I think my shopping budget can extend to a package. Although I'm a Ding Dongs man myself."

Despite his bleak mood, Danny snorted. "They look like hockey pucks!"

"Never get between a man and his chocolate goodies." I intoned with false gravitas. This elicted a giggle, and a slight improvement in Danny's mood. We swung by the dairy aisle for some small bottles of milk (I confess to indulging in chocolate), and made our way to checkout.

Afterwards, we sat on a bench outside the store, devouring our creamy treats.

"Thanks, Mister Mentor," Danny stated at last, wiping off his milk mustache with the back of his hand. "That was cool."

"Any time, Danny. On one condition."

"What's that?"

"Stop calling me Mister Mentor. We're friends, right? And my friends call me Nate."

Danny shook his head. "Mom says I should always call adults Mister or Missus, or Miss. I'm supposed to respect people older n' me.'

"I'm not THAT old…" I replied. "I'm only 45."

Danny paused, lips moving in thought. "Wow, you could be my granddad!"

Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. "Not quite. If anything, I'd be an uncle"

Danny's eyes widened. "That's it!"

"Hmm?"

"I could call you Uncle Nate. Then I wouldn't have to use your last name all the time."

I looked down on him, emotions warring in my face. Affection won, and I gave him a quick hug.

"I would LOVE to be your uncle, Danny," I murmured.

"Deal," Danny announced. "Uncle Nate? Can we have some ice cream?"

I grinned down at him. "Nice try, but I don't want to ruin your lunch. Next time, okay?"

"Awww… all right."

We drove back to the apartment complex. Thanks to the early hour, and the lack of moving vehicles, I was able to reclaim my usual parking spot, which meant that Danny and I could unpack the trunk fairly quickly.

Afterwards, he half-led, half pulled me upstairs. "Mom! We're home!"

Lily opened the door, noticing my presence on the stoop. "Thanks for keeping an eye on him, Nate. The apartment needed a good airing out, and Danny has a way of attracting dirt. I hope he wasn't any trouble."

"Not at all. In fact, he was a lot of help."

"Oh?" she replied, lifting an eyebrow.

Danny chimed in. "Yep! I got the peanut butter and the olive oil while Uncle Nate was buying sammich stuff."

The eyebrow raised another notch. "'Uncle' Nate?"

"It was the only way I could get him to use my first name," I replied sheepishly. "I guess that makes me your big brother."

She stared at me for a moment, and then her gaze softened. "I think I'd like that. Would you like to stay for lunch?"

I looked over at Danny, whose face had grown anxious, and nodded. "I would be delighted."

Danny's beaming smile was my reward. And, to be honest, it was worth it.

After a brief meal of grilled cheese sandwiches, I made ready to leave.

"Do you have to, Uncle Nate?" Danny cried.

"Afraid so," I responded. "I have a lot to do around the place. I haven't even made my bed yet."

Danny's head sagged. "I was hoping we could hang out. There's nothing to do around here."

Lily laid her hands on his shoulders, before turning it into a simple hug. "There'll be time for that later. Actually, I have a favor to ask you, Nate."

"Hmm?"

She nodded. "I have a job interview tomorrow morning, and I really don't want to leave Daniel all alone. Is there any way you could watch him?"

I shook my head. "Afraid not. My job requires me to get there pretty early in the morning, and Mondays are the worst. About the only way I could watch him is if I took him with me, and I'm sure that would be boring for him."

Lily looked down "What do you think, Daniel? Would you like to see where Nate works?"

Danny twisted in her grip and nodded. "Uncle Nate's fun. I like him."

"I like him too," she affirmed. She looked up, again. "Well? Think you can handle him, big brother?"

"I love a challenge… little sister," I grinned. We made arrangements for him to be at my door at 7AM the following day, and I gave her a quick peck on the cheek in farewell. Danny wrapped my waist in a bear hug, and (after peeling him free) I made my way back downstairs.

The rest of the day passed without incident, save for a brief interruption at around 5:00, when Danny appeared on my doorstep with a bowl of leftover Stroganoff.

"Mom said you'd 'preciate it more than I would," he explained.

"Give her my thanks," I replied. Danny nodded, and seemed to be waiting for something. I took an educated guess, and opened my arms.

Yep. Another hug. I was starting to feel like a teddy bear. The funny thing was, I really didn't mind. Finally, he let go, and I prepared for a quiet evening.

The following morning (early, if not particularly bright) I performed my usual ablutions and light breakfast, half-distracted as I listened for a step on the stairs. Finally, I heard the thump of sneakers on the wood, and a gentle rap on the door.

Danny was dressed neatly in slacks and a polo shirt, and a backpack was slung over one shoulder. The bleary expression on his face suggested his mom had probably helped him out, however.

"You OK, Danny?" I asked solicitously.

"Couldn't sleep," he mumbled. "Too excited."

I patted his shoulders. "It's a pretty long drive. You can nap in the car."

"'kay, Unc'Nate."

By the time we turned into the office lot, Danny was more coherent. I waved my badge at the sensor, before typing in the security code.

"That's cool!" he remarked. "It's like Mission Impossible!"

I shrugged. "More like Get Smart. It was broken a good chunk of last week."

Danny's enthusiasm was undimmed, as we climbed the stairs to my cubicle. As usual, I was one of the first to arrive, so it was a simple matter to fetch a spare chair and set him up in the corner. He pulled out a book, and began to read.

One by one, my co-workers arrived. To some, I joked that he was my new intern, but after a while that gag grew stale, and I merely stated the (relative) truth… he was my nephew, and I was watching him for the day.

Actually, I was rather proud of him. He was very respectful to my fellow engineers, and, to my surprise, quite the little charmer to the secretarial staff, who were more than happy to anoint him with hugs, cheek pinches, and (in one case) a box of Girl Scout cookies.

It all went fairly well, until shortly before lunch. I was hunched over my computer, and Danny was staring out the window at the trees, when a familiar stale aroma wafted its way into my sensorium.

I turned to see Mr. Lamb standing at the door to my cube, tapping his foot irritatedly.

"We aren't running a babysitting service here, Mentor," he grumbled. "If you have time to babysit, then maybe I need to find more for you to do."

"Hey!" Danny shouted, turning from the view, "I ain't no baby. And Uncle Nate's been working all morning."

Lamb looked down at him over the top of his glasses. "I don't recall asking your opinion, son."

"You aren't my dad!" Danny shouted, "Though you smell like he did. You stink!"

"DANIEL!" I snapped. Danny looked at me, a shocked expression on his face. I turned to my boss, and quietly stated, "My apologies, Mr. Lamb. His actions will receive the proper response."

He sniffed. "I should certainly hope so. Children today should respect their betters."

"Indeed,"I replied. "Daniel will get what he deserves."

I turned to him. "Gather your things. We're leaving. Now."

Eyes wide, Danny complied, as I set my mouth into a grim line. After shutting down my computer, I fetched my bag, and we left the building.

As we passed through the security gate, Danny looked up at me. "Uncle Nate… am I in trouble?"

I looked around, carefully, before shaking my head, and letting loose the suppressed laughter I'd been holding in. "Far from it, Danny. I've wanted to pop that stuffed shirt's ego for YEARS."

Danny visibly relaxed. "Really?"

"Cross my heart. Sorry for scaring you like that, but I do still have to work with the guy.

"It's OK, Uncle Nate," he remarked, wrapping me in one of his customary hugs. "I don't care about him. Just you."

"And I care about you, Danny. But come on. We have to get going, and I have a promise to keep."

"Huh?"

"I seem to recall some mention of ice cream…" I grinned. Danny's face broke into a sunny smile.

A short while later, as I watched him dig into a hot fudge sundae only slightly smaller than his head, I came to a realization.

I may not enjoy work… but that should never stop me from enjoying life.

A Winter Tale

Just a little something for the season.

Summary

A man and his young neighbor walk home in the snow, and roughhouse together in his apartment. It's more of a vignette than a full story.
1,100 words (2 pages)
Uncle M and Jay (9yo)
b – nosex

I used to love the winter when I was a kid. I'd watch the news with bated breath, hoping and praying for enough snow to cancel school, enough snow to make snowmen, and snow forts, and snow angels, and… Well, you get the idea. But as I grew older, wintry weather became less of a blessing and more of a curse. So it was on this particular day when, after a long and frustrating day at the office trying to deal with supposedly skilled employees, I rode the bus back to my simple studio apartment.

There had been a minor snowfall the night before, one that would have barely rated compared to the storms of my childhood, but the somewhat inefficient way that the sidewalks were maintained in my area made the short walk from stop to studio at best a nuisance, and at worst, quite treacherous. So it was that, when the bus finally arrived at my stop, I had managed to work myself into a minor fit in anticipation of the last leg of my journey home.

I gingerly decamped, eyes intent on my footing, when I saw the small figure, huddled in a dark blue parka, shivering in the meager shelter provided by the Transit Authority. I carefully walked over, and the figure raised it's head, revealing the dark hair and freckled face of Jacob Bowman (age 9) the son of my downstairs neighbor.

"Jay? What are you doing here?"

The boy swept back his hood, giving a snaggle-toothed grin "Waiting for you, Uncle M." The expression in his eyes added a voiceless "Duh" to his statement. "My mom has to work late, and I thought maybe we could hang out together?"

I stared down at the half-frozen boy and appeared to muse over his proposition. I must not have been all that convincing, however, as he soon gave me a quick (but harmless) punch in the hip.

"Come on, Uncle M! It's freezing!"

I grinned down at him. "I guess we'd better get going then. Why are you taking so long?"

Jay rolled his eyes and reached for my hand. Together, we trudged back to our building, negotiating the ridges and puddles of the storm's passing. Periodically, Jay would run ahead, fearlessly disregarding the terrain, to take a close look at a storefront display or to snap an icicle from a low hanging branch, but he always returned to my side, for our mutual support.

We finally arrived home, and shook off the cold during the elevator ride up. After finally managing to unlock my door (I really should wear gloves more often) we stepped inside. Jay, as usual, plopped onto the ground to try to remove his boots, rocking and rolling in a vain attempt to gain sufficient leverage. He finally gave up, and stared up at me with well-practiced puppy-dog eyes.

I ambled over and grabbed one boot, carefully pulling it off, and taking his sock half-off with it. Predictably, Jay didn't mind, simply kicking it off and switching feet. This time, the sock came off completely with his boot, leaving me with a bare foot in my hands. Temptation beckoned.

I yielded to it, scratching at his sole with a well-practiced thumbnail. Jay thrashed on the floor, giggling, yanking his foot from my grasp.

I turned to hang my coat, saying "So, what do you want to do? Are you hungry? Or maybe we could watch a movie?"

"Let's wrestle!" Jay shouted from behind. I turned, only to meet the tackle of an excited 9-year-old boy.

And so began the clash of champions. My young opponent had kept his coat on, perhaps in a vain attempt to protect himself from my grasp, but I soon slipped my hands beneath its defense, leaving it lying on the floor. As we grappled on the living room floor (always keeping an eye out for the furniture… those corners HURT), his shirt joined the pile, giving me easy access to his ribs. I attacked them vigorously, as he vainly tried to escape my assault.

Soon, however, he was begging for mercy. But mercy was not forthcoming, as I scooped him up , placing him face-down on my shoulder, and carried his struggling form to the other room, tossing him onto the bed hard enough to bounce. He scrambled to his knees with a feral grin, daring me with his eyes. I posed like Jimmy Snuka before leaping (oh. all right, falling) onto the bed. We grappled some more, my tickling vs his wriggling, but he proved to be a more canny opponent than I had predicted, and soon was straddling my chest, pinning my hands above me.

(It is possible, perhaps, that I let him. Further deponent sayeth not.)

He looked down at me, bright blue eyes sparkling. "Onetwothree I WIN!" he panted.

"So you did, kiddo. What's the prize?"

He leaned down and kissed me one the nose, before relaxing his grip and lying on my chest. "Nothing. I already have what I want."

We lay there for a while, his heart beating its hummingbird tempo against mine. Finally, he looked up to stare at me. "I love you, Papa Bear."

I stroked his hair. "And I you, Baby Bear." His heartbeat slowed, his breathing eased, and all was right with the world.

A short while later, I was sitting in front of my computer, staring at an empty text window, when I felt two slender arms snake around my chest and warm breath at my neck.

"Did you have a good nap?" I murmured. Jay put his face next to mine, and gazed at the screen.

"Uh-huh, what're you doing?"

"Thinking about a story. About you and me."

"Really?" I sensed, rather than saw, his eyes widen. "Can I be a superhero ninja who fights zombies?"

I turned my chair, and he clambered into my lap. "You can be anything you want to be, Jay. I'll do whatever you want."

He paused in thought. "Right now, I want to watch Iron Man 3 again. Can we?"

"Of course. Want some hot cocoa?"

Jay nodded so hard I feared his head may detach. I stood up with him in my arms, holding him close, before carefully lowering him onto his feet.

"Head over to the other room, and I'll be right there. The blanket is in the usual place." He dashed off.

As I stood in my kitchenette, stirring marshmallows into a cup, I had a revelation:

Winter isn't that bad at all… if you have someone to share it with.

The End