Introduction: The year is 2076, not that is extremely important. The story takes place at the same time as Five Love Stories en Brochette; much of it at the same time as the last chapter of that story. It has been almost six years since that story was published here. In that story, Scott Adams is briefly mentioned in a couple of sentences near the beginning, and once again in the epilogue. Wren Phoenix thought it might be nice to know a bit more about Scotty Adams. I’m sorry, Wren, that it took so damn long to get around to it.

Scott’s mother disappears when Scott enters seventh grade. He no longer has the buffer of his mother to protect him from his father. He also discovers the comfort of dressing in his mother’s clothing. That does not turn out well when he is discovered. Scott has figured out how to get away from his father for most of the day, Monday through Friday, during the summer. Still, he has to deal with him on the weekends.

This work is copyrighted by the author and any publication or distribution without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters to persons living or dead is coincidental.

Chapter 3

The one thing that stood out in Scott’s mind was their constant fighting. It had to be one of his earliest memories. It seemed like most of the time it was his fault, or it had something to do with him. He loved his mother very much, and she returned that love. She was patient with him. She tried to teach him right from wrong. She read to him at night. There were wonderful stories. Some were scary, but she would try to explain what the important lesson was that might be hidden in that story. She taught him how to read. She would tell him that he needed to go to college so that he could have a better life than she and his father had. Scott was a bit confused about that as he didn’t really have anything to compare his life to. All things considered, they probably lived as well as 25 percent of the inhabitants of the area.

He remembered when his father got hurt. They visited him in the hospital. His leg had all sorts of things attached to it. He finally got better, but he didn’t go to work. His mother stopped taking him to daycare for a while. She had told his father that they could save a lot of money if he would take care of Scott while she worked. That proved to be a mistake rather quickly. His dad would watch television all day long and drink beer. There were many times when he forgot to fix lunch for Scott. At least Scott knew how to fix breakfast cereal.

Elaine came home early one day to find Scott by himself. His father had gone to Myrtletown to get beer. He may or may not have forgotten to take Scott with him. Scott went back to the daycare in Kneeland the next day. He was fed there and got to play with other children his age. It was about that time when he found that he enjoyed playing with the girls more than he did the boys. No one really thought much about it at that time.

When Scott was five, he was enrolled in kindergarten at the Kneeland Elementary school. They had a before and after school program which meant his mother could leave him off at 7:00 AM. He could get a nutritious breakfast and lunch, and then be taken care of until his mother could pick him up.

When they would get home, his mother would yell at his father because he’d been smoking inside the trailer. One of her rules was that there was no smoking indoors. He’d bitch about it saying that it was “his house” and he’d smoke in it when he wanted to. She’d exclaim that it was bad for Scott’s health. Scott could remember his father saying he could “give a shit”. It would be several years before Scott figured out what that meant. Then the argument would migrate to when was his father going to get a job so that they could “get out of this dump?”

Yelling seemed to be the way to solve problems; however, Scott wasn’t too sure that was really the best way to do things. Many times after their fights they would retreat to the bedroom where different types of noises emanated. Scott usually put himself to bed. When he was about twelve, Scott realized what was going on behind closed doors. But the arguments continued, and his mother’s black eye was an indicator that things were getting worse, not better.

Then disasters of all disasters happened. His mother left his father, and she didn’t take him with her. It was only a week after starting seventh grade in Eureka when he came home to find his father drunker than usual.

“She left me, Scott. She left us. She ran off with some asshole from San Francisco. She took half her shit, and just drove off. I don’t know what we’re going to do.

“Get me a beer.”

Why would his mother do something like that? She would never have left him, would she? She’d often said that the only reason she’d stayed was because of him. Scott cried himself to sleep that night. He didn’t have any dinner.

He fixed some cheerios the next morning. His father was still asleep. He smelled the pungent odor of burning plastic when he came out of his bedroom, and found he carpet smoldering under the ashes of an unfiltered cigarette butt. He cleaned up the butts and poured water over the smoldering spot. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to do that.

In spite of being in a new school for only a week, Scott had made several friends. Jimmy Kincaid and Diane Wilkes had gone to Kneeland Elementary with Scott the previous year. It didn’t matter where one went to school, and regardless of existing policies against it, there would always be an individual or two who assumed the role of class bully. Scott’s slight build and reticence made him a natural object of the bullies because he couldn’t or wouldn’t retaliate. Most bullies were cowards, anyway. They certainly wouldn’t pick on someone bigger and stronger than they were.

Jimmy Kincaid, whose father was an executive at the mill where Scott’s mother worked, was that bigger and stronger individual. He was basically just a good kid who had a decent upbringing. He’d caught two of the nastier guy cornering Scotty, Jimmy called him Scotty immediately after they met for the first time, and Jimmy let the two, Arturo Dominguez and Gary Reinwand, know that under no uncertain terms they were to cease and desist harassing Scotty. Gary, the main instigator, tried to take exception to being told what he could or couldn’t do by taking a swing at Jimmy. Jimmy caught his fist in mid swing and forced Gary to his knees. Art thought better of creating any further trouble.

Diane knew Scotty as a gentle soul who unknown to himself had a very feminine presentation. No one had asked Scotty why he acted the way he did. It was just the way he was. She knew he loved his mother; however, he wouldn’t say much about his father other than he didn’t work because of an injury.

The problems started appearing during the second week of school. Scotty was very morose and uncommunicative after he got on the bus. Usually, he was all smiles when he got on. Diane and Jimmy would always make sure he had a seat with them.

“What happened, Scotty?” Diane asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We can’t have you glowering around all day. You need to get it out so that we can fix things.”

“You can’t fix this; no one can.”

“Well, we certainly can’t if you don’t tell what’s wrong,” Diane said.

“My mother ran off with another man, and I don’t know where she is,” Scotty started crying. “She didn’t even tell me she was going to go. I thought she loved me.”

“I’m sure your mother loves you. She’s probably just waiting to get settled before she comes back to get you.”

“I wish she would. My father’s drunk all the time. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t love me or even want me.”

Things did not get any better over the weeks. Then they got worse. Scott had gotten off the school bus and was walking down the dirt road to the trailer when he noticed a thin plume of smoke rising above the trees that lined the road. The trees were some hardwoods that the logging operation had no interest in – some madrone and bay trees mostly; maybe a few oaks. He found his father beyond the far end of the trailer putting things into an old 55 gallon drum. They were not vigorously burning. Several paper bags full of things were waiting to be added to the smoldering mass.

“What are you doing, father,” he asked quietly.

“Shit, I’m burning some of the trash your mother left. There’s no need to keep any of this crap around here. It’s just taking up room.

“I need to get a beer. As soon as that fire burns down a bit, dump the rest of that shit in that barrel. I’m going inside.”

“Yes, Father.”

Scott picked up a bag. It was full of his mother’s things. He could smell his mother. There were her dresses. He dumped the contents onto the patch of grass that served as what little lawn they had. They were some of his mother’s favorites. She wore them when she was in a good mood; maybe when she was trying to encourage his father to have sex with her. He looked in another bag. It contained some bras and panties. Another bag; her blouses.

He looked into the smoldering barrel. There were her shoes and other personal articles. What did she take with her, he wondered?

He picked up the floral dress that she had worn on few of the happy occasions, carefully folded it and placed it back in the bag. He could hear his father’s footsteps coming from beneath the trailer. He followed them to the kitchen, then back to the living room. They stopped opposite the widescreen. Scott knew then and there what he had to do, needed to do. He could smell his mother’s perfume that permeated some of her nicer clothes. It was mixed with the smell of her deodorant. For the moment, it was all he had of his mother. Searching through the bags, he found some of her makeup. He set that aside. Another bag had some of her magazines. He’d seen the ashes of other magazines in the barrel incinerator.

While listening for his father’s movements, he carefully separated what he liked from what he felt he could discard. By the time he put the last bag of items into the barrel, he’d placed two bags behind the trailer’s skirt. He’d bring them in and hide them later. He would keep as much of his mother he could until she came back for him. He knew she would.

“You got that shit burnt?”

“Yes, Sir, but it’s not burning real well. You might want to put some gasoline on it tomorrow to get it burned completely.”

Scott brought out a couple of TV dinners and microwaved one for his father before he fixed his. He put his father’s on the TV tray along with another beer. He didn’t have to be asked.

His father’s disability check usually arrived on Friday, every other week. His father would take it to the bank on Saturday, cash it, and then hit the supermarket with Elaine. Most California supermarkets were full service liquor stores. That just made Jake’s shopping trips that much easier. In the past, Elaine would make sure that they got enough food, and she would try to control the purse strings as much as possible. Normally at the plywood mill, the employees would work four twelves, have four days off, and come back for four more twelve hour shifts. They would rotate shifts every quarter. The mill worked seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. They would stand down one day a month for maintenance and clean-up. The dispatch office worked only during the day, and normally Monday through Friday. This meant that Elaine would have the weekends off, and she could manage the shopping. Shopping became a bit easier than it had been before Jake got hurt.

That was all changed now.

About a month after his mother’s disappearance, his father started going into town at night, leaving Scott to his own resources. Sometimes, he’d be home around midnight; however, on some weekends he wouldn’t get home until nearly dawn. It all boiled down to that fateful Saturday night. Jake had left around six o’clock for his trip to Eureka. The sun was getting close to setting, and Scott knew he would have several hours to himself.

The bags of clothing and his mother’s personal articles were hidden in in the back of his closet and in a cabinet in the laundry room. His father never did the laundry, and Scott had taken over that job without any complaint from his father. Scott very carefully retrieved the floral pattern dress, a bra that he’d carefully adjusted several weeks before, and the panties he could barely keep from sliding off his hips. A feeling of great peace spread over him as he adjusted the dress. It didn’t matter that it didn’t fit properly. He’d tried some makeup in the past; however, he knew he needed more, much more, practice before he got it right.

His hair was quite long, his mother had never been after him to get it cut, besides the closest barber was twenty miles away. She would even it up every once in a while. She would gently wash it before cutting it. He loved the attention she gave him. He thought about her as he parted his hair down the middle, and then using the scrunchies he’d salvaged, gave himself two pig tails. He wanted to give himself bangs, but he knew he’d never get away with it. He’d have to make do.

The satellite TV had two nice classical music channels. One was more pops, and the other played longer works. His mother liked to listen to it although she didn’t know very much about the music. They’d listen to it if his father wasn’t around. It was strictly CW otherwise, not that Scott didn’t like CW. The classical music was just a lot more interesting. A couple of the radio stations in the area broadcast classical music at certain times; however, they were on the wrong side of the ridge to get a good signal.

She, there was no doubt about that now, fixed a cup of hot chocolate, and settled down in an easy chair with one of the glamour magazines she’d salvaged. She smoothed the dress under her as she sat, and then tucked her legs back. The music, a Brahms piano concerto, masked the sound of the approaching vehicle, and she didn’t realize her father had returned until he flung the front door open.

“Forgot my fucking wallet, and those whores won’t fuck on credit,” he muttered.

“Who the fuck are you?” he half shouted as he saw Scott for the first time.

Scott was paralyzed with fear, and couldn’t respond.

Then the realization of whom her father was seeing sank in. “Why you goddam fucking little faggot, I shoulda killed ….”

Those were the last things Scott would remember for a while.

Chapter 4

The first thing he realized was that he was cold. The second thing was that his head hurt. It hurt a lot. He was no longer wearing his mother’s dress, and it was nowhere to be seen. He was still wearing the panties, but the bra was gone, too. He tried to stand, and after almost losing his balance, managed to get upright. The hair on the left side of his head was hanging down, while the hair on the right was still in a pigtail.

The light of dawn was beginning to come through the windows, and the only thing he could think of was going to bed. He lay there for a while trying to figure out what happened. He was reading makeup hints when the front door flew open, and his father returned. Why? He shouldn’t have been home for at least another four hours. He’d forgotten his wallet. That’s what it was. Then he said something about paying some whores. So that’s what he was doing. Shit, that was obvious. He hadn’t thought about it that much. He was just glad his father was not home.

Wow, his father hadn’t recognized him at first. He’d thought he was a girl. Then he did recognize him. The last thing he could clearly remember was that his father was advancing on him. There was fire in his eyes and he’d made a fist. That was the last thing he could remember.

The area behind his ear was very sore, and when he started to roll over he realized that his side also was very painful. He must have dozed off after that. The next thing he knew, his father was yelling for him.

“Scott, git yore sorry ass out here.”

Scott knew there was no escaping confrontation with his father.

His father was drinking a beer. When wasn’t he?

“If I ever catch you dressing up like that again I’ll beat the living shit out of you. Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir.”

For the next year and a half Jake did not catch Scott wearing any of his mother’s clothing. Scott was a bit more careful in his ventures into exploring his feminine side. He was probably a bit too trusting in his father’s habits. Jake Adams hadn’t done a lick of laundry since he and Elaine had married, and Scott hadn’t found it difficult at all to pick up on the laundry chores. Scott’s cache of his mother’s clothing remained hidden in the utility closet in the alcove that served as a laundry room. That was until an invasion of Philippine cockroaches drove Jake into hunting for some insecticide.

Scott knew the game was up as soon as he entered the trailer that Friday afternoon. The makeup, underwear, dresses, skirts and blouses were spread across the living room floor. Jake was standing by the door when Scott entered. He was holding a switch of bamboo cut from a patch that grew at the edge of the untended lands next to the trailer. The beating lasted for ten minutes. Then Jake stood by as each item was put in the barrel, doused with charcoal lighter, and burned to ash or at least in the lowest form of remains possible.

Jake returned to the trailer, never saying a thing. Scott never gave his father the satisfaction of saying a thing as the blows rained on his back. He stoically followed his father into the trailer where his father had already opened a beer and was watching the early evening edition of the news on the local FOX channel.

Fortunately, Scott was wearing a rather heavy shirt and an undershirt beneath that. Still, the repeated lashes had cut through the material in several places. Scott gingerly pulled his t-shirt off, it was sticking to the blood. He could see at least a dozen welts and about half as many deep scratches oozing blood. He cleaned up things as best he could, spreading antibiotic ointment on the cuts and putting on a clean T-shirt. He slept on his stomach for the next week.

Jimmy and Diane noticed his painful expression the next Monday as Scott got on the bus. His back pack was not slung across his shoulders like it had been in the past. He did not lean back into the seat like he normally did.

They never would see the damage. It was finals week, and gym class was over.

“What are you going to do this summer?” Diane asked.

“I signed up for summer school. I’m going to take geology and Biology. If I do well enough, I might be able to get a scholarship for college.”

“Those are pretty tough courses,” Jimmy added.

“Yeah, I’m going to take both semesters.”

“Who’s your teacher going to be?” Diane asked.

“Mr. Joe.”

“Oh, he is so handsome. I wish I were going to school with you.

“We’re going to Europe with Jimmy’s family. I guess we’ll see you next fall.” Diane gave Scott a hug, and neither Jimmy nor Diane failed to notice that Scott winced.

“What do you think happened to Scotty?” Diane asked as they got off the bus.

“I’d say his father whipped the shit out of him. Did you see the back of his shirt?”

“No.”

“There are spots of blood. I saw that a couple of days ago. Scotty would never wear a dirty shirt. That son-of-a-bitch beat him just like he’d done in the past.”

“Maybe we should tell someone.”

“We probably should. I talked to my dad about it, and he said we shouldn’t get involved.” That was one of the few times that Jimmy and Diane let Scott down.

Mr. Joe: who was he? He was Joe Esterházy, two time Olympic Decathlon Champion. If there was a local hero in Humboldt County, Mr. Joe was it. He was the head coach at Eureka High School, and also taught several science classes. He was probably one of the most admired persons in Humboldt County: not just because he was an athletic hero and great coach, but because he was an admired teacher and instructor.

His wife, Amy, was equally admired. She was the principal of Zane Middle School, but also taught English during the summer sessions. She was a forthright, no nonsense administrator and teacher. In spite of being short, very busty, and some might say zaftig, she had little problem maintaining control of the students and staff.

The Esterházys had five children with another on the way, although that was not common knowledge. They’d gotten an early start on parenthood and were married while Joe was still in high school. Amy was a year older than Joe, and their families had been close for years. They’d fallen in love early in their teens, and in spite of their precautions, Amy got pregnant during her senior year. They didn’t attempt to hide her pregnancy from their parents, and after the initial shock wore off, life went on. They both graduated from Humboldt State with honors, and then got their Master’s Degrees. Their son had a baby sister by then.

Scott had considered running away many times; however, he realized he didn’t have the strength or knowledge of how to get by in the outside world. He would avoid his father as much as possible, try not to provoke him any more than he’d already done. He’d eventually think of something, but right now he felt his options were limited. Hopefully, his mother would show up and take him away from this misery. He wondered where she was. Was she even alive?

Scott’s sense of preservation had led him to acquiring the funds he needed by various means. He’d convinced his father to provide lunch money, and to take care of ‘unexpected’ expenses, he’d padded the account amount needed. He’d also appropriate an additional $20.00 or so from his father’s wallet after he’d come home from visiting the ladies of the night. He never missed it. He wasn’t much of an accountant. Scott’s mother had always looked after the books. His father managed to survive from check to check; however, there wasn’t much beyond that. As far as Scott knew there weren’t any savings.

What was he going to do during the two weeks before school started? He had enough money for lunch and snacks so food wouldn’t be a problem. The major problem as he’d known from the beginning was getting to and from Eureka. His major exercise over the next two weeks would be to work it out.

He ate breakfast while listening to his father snoring in the easy chair where he’d passed out the night before. Out of habit, Scott collected the beer cans and cleaned up the cigarette butts that missed the ash tray. He’d crush the beer cans later in the week. Aluminum brought a good price these days.

Now, it was time to see if his plan even had a chance to work. After all, if he couldn’t get a ride to Eureka he wouldn’t be able to get to school. He left his father asleep in his chair, grabbed his knapsack which had his notebook computer, closed the door, and headed down the narrow road to Butler Valley Road. He started walking while holding his hand and thumb in the time honored pose of asking for a ride. If he wasn’t picked up right away, his route would take him to the intersection with Fickle Hill Rd. a couple of miles up the road. He had three hours to get to his destination.

An old gentleman in an equally old gasoline powered pickup truck stopped for him no more than five minutes after he’d hit the main road.

“Thank you, sir,” Scott said as he got into the front seat.

“No problem. Where you headin’ for, young’un?” the driver asked.

“Eureka. I’m going to summer school at Eureka High. School doesn’t start for two weeks. If you’re going that far, could you take me to the library? It’s down on 3rd St.” Scott asked.

“Not a problem at all. I go right by it.”

Scott wasn’t always that lucky, but he found that he could probably get to the area of the school with an hour to spare. Getting home was another problem as many of the drivers heading in the general direction of Kneeland were not going nearly far enough, and many who were, were more interested in getting home rather than picking up a hitchhiker. It took two and a half hours to get home that first night. He wasn’t worried about the dark as it was still light at 9:30, but he didn’t want his father to get wise to what he was doing. He solved his problem the next day by constructing a sign that said, “Kneeland Butler Valley”. After that, it became pretty easy to get a ride. His appearance wasn’t very threatening, and several asked why he was doing what he was doing. He told them the truth. He was going to summer school.

The library was a wonderful place. He’d have to wait outside until they opened; however, they had free Wi-Fi that he easily connected to. He read and studied as much as he could about the subjects he was taking. He also found information about his own situation, the fact that he was very comfortable as a girl or young woman. It just felt right. Yes, he’d been caught and severely beaten, but that didn’t change one thing about his persona other than it increased his dislike for his father.

I wonder how long this hitchhiking is going to work out? Hopefully, the Esterházys might be able to intervene.