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Image Credit: Gender Symbol.

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The Taylor Project
 
Chapter Two
 
 
The living room turned out to be dust bunny land. The main walkways were clean, but I found heaps of dust behind the furniture. Even the rotors on the ceiling fan were coated in dust. It was more work than I’d expected, but I kept reminding myself of why I was doing this.

“So who are you and what have done with my son?” asked Dad.

I jumped at Dad’s voice. With the vacuum going I hadn’t heard him enter the room. I shut it down and pulled the white paper dusk mask off my face so I could talk. “N-nothing. I was just cleaning.”

“Sure you were. Scotty, you have never cleaned up the living room without being told and you don’t do this thorough a job even when I make you.”

It took me a bit to work up the words. I couldn’t ask for a better opening, but Dad never listened. “Remember you asked about my New Year’s resolutions? Well, this is it.”

“Your New Year’s resolution is to vacuum the living room?” He was looking at me funny, like I’d sprouted a tail or maybe a long Pinocchio nose. “So what is it that you want?”

“I’m trying to do something about my allergies. I’m making a dust free environment. That’s supposed to help. My resolution is to clean up every week and keep the house dust free. So what I want is my allergies to get better.” It kinda of hurt that he thought I must have an ulterior motive. That really was the main reason, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. “Although I wouldn’t object to getting paid something for it. Rick gets paid for mowing the lawn after all.”

Dad took a long sip of his coffee before he responded. “It’s good you’re taking some responsibility for your allergies…”

I braced myself for what would come next — but you really should be working out.

“… You know, if you want to make this house dust free there is more than vacuuming to be done. If you’re serious about this, I’ll support it and get some more air filters and an air purifier for your room.”

“Yeah, that would be good.” I tried to keep my tone polite, but I think it came out a little snarky. That’s because IMHO those are things we should already be doing. At least he hadn’t tried to shove exercise down my throat, but I still felt like I was getting cheated. “So, that’s instead of getting paid?”

Dad gave me a hard look. “Are you doing it for your allergies or the money?”

I sighed. I’d lost and I knew it. If I said it was for the money I might get paid but Dad wouldn’t do the air filters or the air purifier. It certainly wouldn’t help my case for allergy shots. “For my allergies, sir.” That was true enough. That was more important than money. It just annoyed me that Dad paid Rick twenty bucks to mow the yard with a riding lawn mower, but if I wanted a dust-free house it was up to me and I wouldn’t get paid for it. “I’m almost done cleaning. After lunch can I go to Cathy’s?”

“Sure you can.” He smiled at me. “The house looks good by the way. I’ll get the air filters and an air purifier this week.”

= = =

I dressed for the arctic, coat, hat, gloves, before heading to Cathy’s house. After being warm all the way through Christmas it had finally gotten cold enough to need them. Cathy didn’t live that far away, but she wasn’t exactly next door. She was directly across the road from Grandma’s house and catty-corner to our house. Both our houses were set back from the road. She had an acre or two of pasture in front of her house. We had an ‘orchard’. OK, we had some runty fruit trees that had yet to produce much besides wasps. We hadn’t had cows or horses or real crops since Grandpa died. Cathy and I were kinda friends by default. We were almost the same age (I was ten days older), but there weren’t any other kids even close to our age within five miles — unless you wanted to count Rick and I didn’t. Even though she was a girl she was easily my best friend. She’d been at her grandparents the past few days and I was looking forward to catching up on what she’d gotten for Christmas.

Mrs. Andrews answered the door. She was wearing a dress and had her chestnut brown hair all curled and styled and her warpaint on. She looked like she ready for church, but she looked like that all the time. I really didn’t like her that much. She was quite strict and insisted on best manners at all times. She was also my Sunday school teacher and friends with my Grandma so if I put a toe out of line I was in trouble at home as well. She’d thawed somewhat since the incident when Cathy and I were walking home a couple of years ago. I was welcome in her home now. I think she had decided that I was boyfriend material or to be more accurate future boyfriend material. She’d made a point of mentioning more than once that Cathy wasn’t allowed to date until she was sixteen. That was three years off, but I’ve started to wonder if she was hinting rather than warning.

“Hello Mrs. Andrews. Cathy called and invited me over. Can I come in?”

“That’s may I come in, not can I, and yes you may.” She stepped back and allowed me access to her home. “Cathy, your friend is here.”

I went to their living room. After spending most of my morning cleaning my house I noticed how neat theirs was. Not a bit of dust here to stir up my allergies. I sat down and waited for Cathy to join me. I was never allowed in her room. Her mother thought it was inappropriate. It was as if she was afraid that if we were ever left alone for five minutes we’d rip off our clothes and jump each other. What made her restrictions even stranger was that Cathy could go bike riding any time the sun was up without supervision. When we really wanted to get away from the parental units that’s what we did. A quarter mile in either direction and the pine trees cut off all view.

I didn’t have a long wait. Cathy came thundering in right after her mother called. She was a pint sized version of her mother in looks but a world apart in dress. She had her hair back in a simple pony tail, faded jeans and scuffed tennis. She had a new t-shirt that had bad attitude Tinkerbell on it that read ‘Dust This!’. Somehow I don’t think her mother bought her that. Cathy was a major girly girl back in elementary. She was usually skirts and dresses. Her mother had made many of the dresses and they were a bit on the old-fashioned side. Still they’d seemed to fit her. About the time she hit junior high the dresses vanished in favor of jeans t-shirts. To be honest that’s what most girls wore to school, but I think the girly style suited her better.

Cathy is majorly talented. I wish I had just one of her gifts. She excelled at athletics, music and art. She could run circles around me. She was second chair flute in band. She wasn’t taking art because she didn’t have enough electives but she should be in art. She did these anime style cartoons with pencil and pen that she’d ink and color. She was the only girl I knew who read comics. Although her preferred comics were Japanese manga with titles like Fruits Basket and Marmalade Boy instead of cool stuff like X-Men and Spiderman. I knew that for a fact because I bought them for her. She had to smuggle them into her house because her mom didn’t approve.

“So I heard you got snow for Christmas?” she asked as she plopped down beside me.

“Yeah, that was pretty cool. Short-sleeve weather on Christmas Eve, then it snowed on Christmas Day.” That was a pretty big deal for Pine Hill. Only the second white Christmas that I’d ever had and the first time ever that the first snow of the year was a Christmas snow. “I got out and made a snowman although it didn’t come to life. Then Dad, Rick and I had a snowball fight.” I’d probably stayed out a little too long, because I’d developed a slight cough that I didn’t have before, but it had been worth it. “Of course, by Thursday it had all melted away.”

“So, didja get anything good? I take it you didn’t get the cellphone or I would have heard from you by now.”

Cathy had a cellphone for a couple of years now as did most of the girls at school. I was still one of the disconnected. If I'd been a girl, that would have made the junior high equivalent of an unwashed heathen. As a guy it just made me hard to reach. “No, I didn’t get the cellphone. I did get the new Sims expansion.”

Cathy shrugged. “Anything interesting?” She didn’t share my enthusiasm for the Sims.

“I got a paintball gun.” That I’d still hadn’t taken out to shoot yet. I’d learned a couple of years ago when I’d gotten a BB gun that shooting at targets got boring quickly. “Dad hinted to Rick that if he wanted to keep using our back four acres to play soldier in with his friends then he needed to let me join, too.”

“Do you want to play paintball? Especially with Rick and his friends?” Her tone spoke volumes. Cathy knew it wasn’t something that I would have asked for.

“Not really with Rick and his friends, but I’ve played a couple of times. It’s fun and Rick isn’t as good at it as he thinks he is.” I wasn’t really sure what to think about it. I knew Dad was trying really hard to find something sporty that I liked. He’d done better with paintball than he had in other years, but me and the outdoors didn’t get along. I liked being outdoors in theory, but the reality usually sucked for me with my allergies. I changed the subject. “So what about you, did you get anything good?”

“Lots of clothes, some make up, some movies and some high quality art supplies and a video call with Daddy.”

She said it casually, but I knew the video call was a BFD. One thing Cathy and I shared was missing parents. Mine had decided she had to find herself and was living somewhere in California. Dad wasn’t happy with her because she wasn’t paying child support again so she was kinda a taboo subject at our house at the moment. Cathy’s father was on deployment in the Middle East and she rarely got to see him. “You want to talk about it?”

She did. So we talked about it and she replayed every word. It was obvious to me that five minute call meant more to her than all the rest of her presents put together. I brushed her off when she tried to shift the topic to my mom. “I got a phone call, that’s it. There is supposed to be a card in the mail.” Mom was like that. Last year Rick and I both got brand-new laptops. This year we’d get a card, maybe. “Anyway, what movies did you get?”

“Disney's Tangled and Brave. You want to watch them?”

Cathy’s mom entered the room with a glass of tea in her hand and jumped right into the conversation, “Those are girl movies. I’m sure Scotty doesn’t want to see them.”

“No, I do. I’d be glad to watch them.” I would have said that even if I did mind, because Cathy’s mom annoyed me with the way she hovered around watching me, but I wasn’t lying. Yes, they were Disney and it wasn’t cool to admit to watching Disney at thirteen, but Cathy and I both did. I hadn’t gotten to see either movie. I couldn’t ask Dad to see them at the theater or rent them. Dad’s taste in movies was more crime/drama. I’d been waiting for them to come out on cable, but this was better. So Cathy popped some popcorn, poured real melted butter on it and too much salt and we sat down in her floor to watch them. Not surprisingly I liked them. Her mother was right they were kinda girl movies, but Flynn Rider was majorly cool. As for Brave, I had no problem whatsoever cheering for Merrida. I know exactly what it feels like to have a controlling parent trying to make you be just like them.
 
 
Chapter 3
 
Monday, Jan 7th — Taylor Project Day 7
 
Why is it that school seems to drag out forever and vacations and weekends just fly by? I can’t believe that it is the end of Christmas break already, but here it is. So first an update on my progress.
 
Journal — I promised to write once a week, I’m writing - check

Allergies — I cleaned up like I promised the next day and I did the house again on Saturday. No go on getting paid for it, but Dad did buy a stack of air filters and show me how to change them. He also promised me an air purifier for my room. He ordered it online and it should arrive this week sometime. I think it is helping some. Check

Exercise — I feel guilty about this one. I’ve done a few pushup, situps and crunches in my room every day, but with Dad for a father and Rick for a brother I know exercise. That’s not an aerobic workout. It hasn’t been warm enough to go outside. So I’ve done what I promised to do, but it wasn’t much. Check minus.

Bully target — I haven’t been at school so I haven’t cried in front of anyone. I’ve also been thinking about how not to be bullied. One way is to be buff like Dad and Rick and no one tries to bully you. That’s not me. Another way is being a good little teacher’s pet and the teachers will protect you. Dave is good at that, but that doesn’t work for me either. Most of the teachers don’t like me much. I’m not a straight A student like Dave. Some people tattle, but bullies aren’t stupid. They don’t do anything obvious. No real progress on this. Check minus.

I’m worried about school tomorrow. I had a good time over Christmas break. I read a lot, played video games and hung out with Cathy. Now it is back to being a target. I’ll just do the best I can.

I also promised to write about important stuff. Dad took Rick and me out to dinner with his girlfriend Julie. They’ve been dating for a while now, but usually he leaves me with Grandma and picks her up. This was the first time I actually met her. She looks to be his type, blond hair and on the skinny side. She seemed less country than some of the others, more polished or refined or something. She had this black dress on and she looked classy. She works at a bank and she has a daughter, Hailey, who is my age. I’m a little curious about that. I don’t recall Dad ever dating someone who had kids before. I wonder if I’m going to have a new ‘aunt’ soon. I’ve had two ‘aunts’ since mom left. Aunt Pauline was around on and off again for when I was little. Then Aunt Vicky moved in for six weeks and lived with us full time. I thought she was nice, but she and Dad got in a big screaming fight and then she moved out. Not that those were Dad’s only two girlfriends. Dad dates a lot, but those just the ones who were more than overnight guests. The having dinner with us seems like a sign that Julie is going to be a serious one. I wonder what her daughter Hailey will be like.
 
 
Tues, Jan 8th — Taylor Project Day 8
 
Not much today I just wanted to give a quick bully target update — I made it through the first day. It wasn't a fun day. Kids still called me Snotty and Kevin Grutz kicked my desk all through fourth period trying to annoy me. He does that a lot. I’ve tried telling Mrs. Gerstacker before and she never does anything. She tells him to stop, but the way she says it makes it sound like I’m the one being unreasonable. She’s old like older than Grandma. Her hair is all white. Some old ladies get sweet, like Grandma, but some get sour. Mrs. Gerstacker is one of the sour ones. Sometimes when I have a bad allergy day she gets onto me for disrupting class when I’m just blowing my nose. So I just did my best to just ignore him. Anyway, day one completed with no more than the usual bullying. I don’t think being at school did my allergies any good. I’m feeling more stuffy tonight so I’ll see how it goes tomorrow. Short week so only three days until the weekend.

= = =

My second day back at school and I was already longing for the weekend. The day wasn’t even half done and I was feeling washed out, stuffed up generally crappy. Apparently my allergy medicine was failing. I was a little stuffy yesterday, but I could barely breathe today. I ran out of tissue halfway through fourth period and had to reuse the ones I’d stuffed in my pocket trying to find something not soaked with snot. Mrs. Gerstacker told me off twice for disrupting class. I was just blowing my nose. Kevin Grutz was being an ass as usual, kicking my chair and muttering things too quietly for her to hear. It was a relief to get to go to lunch and not have to be in class for just a bit.

I scanned the cafeteria looking for Dave and Lloyd. They’re my only friends at school. OK, there is Cathy, but I almost never see her at school. Our birthdays were only ten days apart, but mine was at the end of August and hers was at the beginning of September. That made me about the youngest boy in 8th grade and her about the oldest girl in 7th grade. That meant we were on completely different schedules.

Dave, Lloyd and I were outcasts, but at least we were outcast together. Dave was our undisputed leader. He certainly had the brains for it. He was probably the smartest kid in our grade, the second fattest and a major teacher’s pet. That makes him just as unpopular as me, but the teachers protect him more. None of that made him our leader. That had happened before I arrived. Dave led, Lloyd was his wingman and when I moved to Pine Hill I became wingman number two behind Lloyd.

Other people think Lloyd’s in charge, because everyone is scared of him. He’s not big or everything, he just gives off a creepy vibe. He was also a gun nut. I own a BB-gun. I bet most boys in our grade either own one or used to own one. A couple of them might own something larger. Lloyd had his own gun collection and he killed a deer when he was like ten or something. If there was a vote taken for most likely to go Columbine, Lloyd would win hands down. One of my most treasured memories was the day Lloyd made Kevin back down by describing in graphic detail how to gut a deer. Like I said, scary, but he was on my side.

They’d saved me a place in line so I joined them. We didn’t talk much in line. We only got thirty minutes for lunch so eating lunch at Pine Hill Middle School was like a NASCAR pit stop. I pulled into the pit (the serving line). The pit crew (the cafeteria ladies) changed the tires (slapped down food) in under twelve seconds. Then it was fill up on fuel as fast as possible. Then jump and get right back to the race (class). I picked up a large stack of napkins while I was in the line. Sometime between chowing down on my burrito and listening to Dave talk about World of Warcraft and how I should sign up so I could play with him and Lloyd. He was into this story about how powerful shadow priests were when I blew my nose.

Some people can blow their nose quietly. I never can. I make a trumpet noise all the time. It was loud enough to be heard over the buzz of the cafeteria. I heard a comment about a burrito with snot sauce. No problem. That’s just average bullying. Even Dave and Lloyd gave me the eye, but I that was OK. They were allowed.

Dave froze up a bit. “Teacher aggro, Gerstacker at three o’clock.”

I glanced the wrong way, realized that Dave’s three o’clock wasn’t my three o’clock and looked up just in time to see an angry Mrs. Gerstacker stomping our way. Now there were always some teachers in the cafeteria, but she looked upset. I know little old lady mad. My grandmother is usually sweet, but she can get a mad on. Mrs. Gerstacker usually looks sour and now she looked like someone beat her at bingo. She was looking at us or was that me?

“Scott Taylor Miller. It’s bad enough that you disrupt my class, but you do not blow your nose like that it at the dinner table. It’s unsanitary. Were you raised in a cave?”

Now how was I supposed to answer that? I had to blow my nose. The alternatives were worse. Did she want snot dripping out my nose and down my face? I knew better than to argue with a teacher, but what did she expect?

“Well, say something young man.”

“Uh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Gerstacker.”

She launched into a lecture. Something about I should have gone to the bathroom. Duh, not possible, there was no time to do that and eat lunch and did she really expect me to do that every time I had to blow my nose? I wouldn’t be doing anything else all day. Behind her I could see girls giggling at me and guys pointing. I felt myself start to lose it. No, not here not in front of the whole school. However, between her lecture and the pointing I could feel the tears working up. I tried to hold them back, but the snot was flowing too, so I reached for a napkin and blew my nose.

Mrs. Gerstacker stood there a second in shock. “I just warned you, young man. Get up now. You’re going to the principal.” She grabbed me by my arm and pulled.

I let her pull me along and I lost it. I was blubbering and I knew it. I wanted so much not to cry in front of everyone, but now I was doing it in front of everyone and they were all laughing and pointing and I had tears running out my eyes and snot running out my nose. I rubbed my face with my sleeve and I know that is wrong, but my pile of napkins was on my tray with my lunch. Was it worse to wipe your nose with your sleeve or have snot running down? What was the principle going to do to me? In the hallway she kept pulling me along so that I could barely keep up.

“Stop being such a crybaby, Scotty. You wanted attention, you got it.” She marched me into the office, plopped me into the chair and went in to talk to the principal.

I sat there rubbing my nose on my sleeve. Eventually one of the office ladies gave me a box of tissues. So much for my New Year’s Resolution. That was undoubtedly my worst breakdown to date. Would I get licks for this? I’d rather have licks than have to tell my father. At least a paddling was over fast. I was eventually called in to see Mr. Oak. My eyes went straight to a large paddle mounted on the wall. It had a cute slogan on it, ‘The board of education, apply to the seat of understanding.’ Yes, that would be better, fast and over.

I expected to be yelled at. Instead Principal Oak was gave me a sympathetic lecture. He more talked me down than anything. No punishment for me, but he did ask that if I have to blow my nose in the cafeteria that I try to be quiet about it. After that he sent me to the nurse who took my temperature and found I had a low grade fever, 99.5. She had me do a peak flow test. That’s the machine where you exhale as hard as you can and it measures your lung capacity. She didn’t like the results and had me use my inhaler. She tested me again afterward and was happier that I was back in green zone. She gave me a note and sent me to my next class. I didn’t get to finish my lunch and I was hungry, but I didn’t press my luck.

The rest of the day was awful. It was like Mrs. Gertrude had declared open season on me. It seemed everyone in school was mocking me. Kids pretended to sneeze, rubbed their eyes, called me every name from Snotty to crybaby with stops at queer and pansy in between. Why crying made me gay I don’t know, but it was the worst day at school ever. It didn’t end until I got on the bus. I slid over next to the window and Cathy sat down next to me isolating me.

“Hey, how are you doing? I heard about lunch.”

“Great, they know in seventh grade already, too.”

“Hey, listen to this. It might help.” She pulled out her iPod and ear buds and offered them to me.

Now Cathy is always sharing music with me, so I went along. She already had the song picked out and Taylor Swift’s ‘Mean’ flowed out of the earbuds. I knew the song and it was just what I needed then. I almost felt like crying then, but it helped. I closed my eyes and could feel Cathy there beside me. She played it again and again as we road the bumpity bus home. By the time we made it to our stop I felt almost human again. If only I could breathe.

“Thanks Cathy, you’re the best.” Maybe I should date her when she turns sixteen. She helped me out on one of the worst days of my life. Except that I didn’t really feel like kissing her. Maybe I really was gay.

She smiled so brightly, enough to warm me up despite the cold wind. “You want to borrow my iPod tonight?”

“No, really. I’ll be OK, thank you.” Then I was home and Grandma asked me about my day and I so didn’t tell her about all that happened.

As I passed our workout room I paused. Rick wasn’t home. I wasn’t sure where he was since it wasn’t football season, but the only ones home were me and Grandma. I needed to change things. This was all due to my allergies. As much as I hated to admit it Dad was right that aerobic exercise would help some. Doing situps, pushups and crunches in my room quietly didn’t make a good workout. I went back to find my Grandma.

I found her sitting in front of the TV watching some preacher. “Grandma, when is Rick going to be home?”

She looked up at me. “Not until dinner time.”

I paused for a long while weighing what I wanted to ask. “Grandma, would you keep a secret for me?”

She sat up straighter, hit the mute button and looked at me. “What kind of secret?”

I had a bad feeling about this. I knew she loved me, but I wanted her to keep a secret from my dad, her son. “I want to use the workout room, but please don’t tell Dad or Rick.”

She pursed her lips. “Scotty, I’m not sure that is the kind of thing you need to keep secret. Why don’t you want your father or Rick to know?”

“Because Dad doesn’t do exercise halfway. I want to go at my own pace. He’ll get involved and he’ll push, push, push.”

She sighed. “I can understand that. Your father is a good man, Scotty. I’m very proud of the way he has raised you and Rick when your mother left. He means well. Really he does, but I know what you mean. You’re not like Rick. You’re a gentler child. You always have been. I won’t tell him or Rick. I think you should, but it can wait until you’re ready.”

I hugged her gratefully. “Thank you, Grandma.”
 

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To Be Continued...