Aesop Lake Read online

  AESOP

  LAKE

  AESOP

  LAKE

  A NOVEL

  Sarah Ward

  GREEN WRITERS PRESS Brattleboro, Vermont

  Copyright © 2018 Sarah Ward

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher

  Printed in the United States

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  Green Writers Press is a Vermont-based publisher whose mission is to spread a message of hope and renewal through the words and images we publish. Throughout we will adhere to our commitment to preserving and protecting the natural resources of the earth. To that end, a percentage of our proceeds will be donated to environmental activist groups. Green Writers Press gratefully acknowledges support from individual donors, friends, and readers to help support the environment and our publishing initiative.

  Giving Voice to Writers & Artists Who Will Make the World a Better Place Green Writers Press | Brattleboro, Vermont • www.greenwriterspress.com

  ISBN: 978-0-9994995-2-8

  PRINTED ON PAPER WITH PULP THAT COMES FROM FSC-CERTIFIED FORESTS, MANAGED FORESTS THAT GUARANTEE RESPONSIBLE ENVIRONMENTAL, SOCIAL, AND ECONOMIC PRACTICES BY LIGHTNING SOURCE ALL WOOD PRODUCT COMPONENTS USED IN BLACK & WHITE, STANDARD COLOR, OR SELECT COLOR PAPERBACK BOOKS, UTILIZING EITHER CREAM OR WHITE BOOKBLOCK PAPER, THAT ARE MANUFACTURED IN THE LAVERGNE, TENNESSEE PRODUCTION CENTER ARE SUSTAINABLE FORESTRY INITIATIVE® (SFI®) CERTIFIED SOURCING.

  Dedicated

  to Lindsay

  for giving voice to the lambs, warming the world with your rays, and standing in unity with others.

  CONTENTS

  PART ONE: THE BULLY

  THE WOLF

  THE LAMB

  UPSTREAM

  DOWNSTREAM

  PACK ANIMALS

  A BAD EXCUSE

  DENIAL

  PART TWO: PERSUASION

  THE TRAVELER

  RESTLESS WIND

  THE SUN

  THE WIND

  THE CLOAK

  THE CHALLENGE

  WARMTH OF THE SUN

  GENTLE BREEZE

  PERSPIRATION

  WRAPPING THE CLOAK TIGHTER

  PART THREE: UNITY

  SNAPPING STICKS

  STRENGTH

  SINCERITY

  SUPPORT

  FAITH IN TOGETHERNESS

  SPLITTING

  STANDING

  FAMILY

  TIES THAT BIND

  BUNDLED

  UNBROKEN

  DISCUSSION GUIDE

  RESOURCES

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR

  Part One

  THE BULLY

  THE

  HUNGRY WOLF

  AND

  THE LAMB

  A STRAY LAMB stood on the bank of a stream lapping up water, unaware of a gray wolf standing upstream.

  “Perfect,” said the wolf. “There is my meal, foolishly wandering off by itself.”

  “Hey there, little lamb. What do you mean by muddying up my drinking water?” he growled.

  “I’m sorry,” said the lamb, “but I’m not muddying up the water! I’m using only the tip of my tongue, and besides, I’m downstream from you.”

  “Don’t argue with me,” the wolf snarled. “I know all about you. You’ve been going around telling everyone that I’m no good. You are the problem, and I should take care of you right now.”

  “That can’t be,” the small lamb protested.

  “Well,” snapped the wolf, “if it wasn’t you, it was your father, and that is just as bad.”

  And before the lamb could say another word, the wolf sprang on the poor creature and ate him up.

  A bad excuse is good enough for a bully.

  1

  Leda Keogh

  THE WOLF

  DAVID AND I rip down the gravel road toward the town reservoir in a black pickup truck. The windows are down, and the air blows in hot as if it were a steamy summer evening instead of May. My short brown hair is becoming a tangled mess, but I don’t care. The air smells yellow like summer though the forsythias have bloomed and faded. The ferns grow thick on the forest floor and David reeks of motor oil and sweat. I turn my head towards him, following his scent with animal instinct. His tousled black hair and chiseled chin bring out the Italian on his mother’s side, while his stocky, short frame is all Portuguese, according to his mother.

  We fit perfectly together, though David’s shoulders, broad from lifting weights for baseball, can lift my skinny ass up over his head like a bale of hay. I tip my nose toward my armpit and notice that my deodorant has stopped working. The water will help us wash clean. I want to be with David tonight, to make up with him after our fight. I want him to know I’m not mad at him. It was stupid, really. He was just being a guy, cruising around the school like a rutting moose. He didn’t really hurt anyone, just made stupid jokes. Misplaced jealousy, that’s all it was.

  I had smiled and giggled and waved goodbye to Ricky as I left chemistry lab, forgetting David was going to walk me to art class. Forgetting he sees green when I even talk to another guy. It doesn’t matter if that guy is dating someone else, or in this case, is gay. David saw it happen and pulled me to the side as I left the class-room—then waited for Ricky to exit. He looped his arm with mine and stepped us into the wave of students, walking directly behind Ricky, taunting him under his breath, calling Ricky a fairy. He was mad all afternoon.

  “Do you think the water will be cold?” I ask.

  “Should be cold enough.” He reaches over and pinches my left nipple. My cheeks burn, but I don’t move away, just hold my arms in tighter to my sides as he starts laughing. I push the uncomfortable feeling away and let his smile make me feel better.

  The gravel under the tires crackles as we pull into the parking lot of the reservoir. Voices are coming from the dark water, and the occasional splash echoes through the trees. Someone is probably jumping off the dam into the thirty-foot black water. I wonder again how cold it is. Probably better to just jump and get it over with, otherwise I might chicken out. The thought of being naked in the icy water makes me blush again, and then I see the other car. Damn.

  “Come on, David. Let’s get out of here,” I urge. “I don’t want to take my clothes off in front of people and I didn’t bring a suit.”

  “Let’s just see who it is,” he insists, parking the 4x4. David doesn’t acknowledge the silver Beetle parked under the trees, but I know it’s Ricky and Jonathan. I don’t really care that they’re gay, and for the most part it doesn’t really affect me. Ricky and I do labs together. He’s smart, pretty funny, gentle, and very, very gay. When a beautiful, doe-eyed boy looks dreamily at his best friend, you can tell they’re not just friends.

  “I don’t want to skinny dip with other people around, David, and I don’t have a suit. Let’s just go.” I’m begging now, but he is already out the door, closing it quietly. I climb out and sidle up, grabbing his hand, which he squeezes.

  The moonlight strikes the water, lighting up the silhouette of two boys with their arms wrapped tightly around each other. They’re making out near one of the big boulders lining the shore. Ricky’s smaller physique against Jonathan’s makes him look almost feminine, but the squareness of their shoulders, the flat chests and narrow waists, gives them away.

  “Let’s go, David,” I whisper. I can see his chest heaving. His anger is a python, squeezing the warmth from the air.

  “What the fuck!” he snaps, shifting back and forth on his feet. “Those fucking faggots are messing up our spot! What the fuck are t
hey doing?”

  I pull David by the arm back towards the pickup.

  “Come on, David, let’s go. I don’t really care if we can’t swim tonight. We can come back another time.”

  He lets me drag him away, back down the path and to the truck. I’m relieved. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Before I know what’s happening, I hear him talking to MJ.

  “You gotta get over to the dam, dude. We got ourselves a couple of pansies doing the nasty. … Yeah, no shit. Are you coming or what?”

  I raise my hand to cover my shocked mouth.

  He looks up at me. “What?”

  “Why are you doing this?” An urge to scream out to Ricky and Jonathan rises. I know MJ only lives a mile and a half down the road. He’ll be here any minute.

  “Why am I doing what? Is one of them your gay BFF?” He raises his voice high and flicks out a pinky.

  I stare at David for a long moment, and he stares back, daring me to challenge him. My heart pounds in my chest, and I drop my gaze. David steps closer and places his large hand on the back of my thigh, pulling me close.

  “This,” he says, pulling my body up against him, “this is what is meant to happen between a man and a woman.” He leans in, pressing me between his hips and the cold metal of his truck. I don’t move or breathe. I can’t.

  I hear tires on gravel, and MJ pulls up in his moth-er’s Suburban. He jumps out. David turns away from me as if nothing is happening. I take a step away from the truck bed, trying to act as if everything is fine. My stomach does a flip as I see what MJ is holding.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. MJ looks down at his shotgun.

  “This? It’s just for show.” And David starts snickering, his dark hair cutting across his beautiful eyes. David catches my expression, and suddenly he knows exactly what I’m going to do. He grabs me by the arm and digs in his fingers.

  “Don’t spoil all our fun,” he whispers. “We aren’t going to hurt them, Leda. No one is going to get hurt. I promise. Get in the truck and wait for us,” he commands. “Can I trust you?” he asks. “Because if I can’t, I’m sure the cops would love to hear about your mom.”

  My gut tightens into my chest. I nod, exhaling. He slowly relaxes his grip.

  “Just stay here. We won’t take long, just a little scare.” His voice is steady. He and MJ move down to the water.

  I back away towards the door of the truck and feel for the cool, worn handle. I clamber up to the passenger’s seat and squint into the darkness.

  A shot rings out and someone’s scream breaks through the dense air of the cab. There is splashing, shouting. Then another shot and more screams. My heart is pounding. I pull my phone from my jeans. Tears slide out of the corners of my eyes. I wipe them quickly away and slide to the floor of the truck.

  2

  Jonathan Tanner-Eales

  THE LAMB

  THE GRASSY BEACH that meets the water is empty of families. They’ve gone home, I suppose, to heat up leftovers and watch their favorite Thursday-night sitcom. I stare at Ricky for a long moment and then gulp the air and dive below the surface, challenging him to hold his breath. I resurface and fill my lungs, aching to reach out towards him.

  “Ricky, you suck at holding your breath. You need to work out more, build your endurance,” I tease.

  “Oh yeah?” he says. “Then come over here and show me how it’s done.” Ricky’s blond hair is plastered to his head. His skin stays a copper tan all year long, as if he surfed the ocean blue. He dives beneath the dark water and disappears. I wait for him to resurface, recalling the reasons I love him.

  He’s so brainy, especially with science. He’s taken every AP science class Mount Lincoln offers, and he tutors freshmen, a gig he keeps to himself. In our hick town, it’s not cool to like musicals, or be too smart. We both want out.

  Darkness cloaks the woods that encircle the reservoir. The trees are now black sentries in formation, and for a moment I think I hear the sound of a door slam in the distance. Then I feel the movement of the water and Ricky’s hand reaching toward me. My pulse quickens, every muscle on edge and ready for his touch.

  When I met Ricky, I was staying under wraps, blending in—well except for my blue hair and pierced lip—but I kept to myself, and then pow, the air was sucked out of the room. Angels sang and a gentle wind blew through the auditorium doors, carrying a small-framed boy with blond curls and mocha eyes. It wasn’t just a sexual thing—though that was there, electric, a force that pulled me to touch him. I felt an instant connection, a comforting one, like I was meant to know him. It would have been so easy to just reach out and place my hand on the back of this boy’s collar, and I knew we would melt together. When Ricky turned his face toward me, our eyes met and his face lit up, happiness and wariness all twisted together.

  Our friendship developed quickly and we hung out after play rehearsal, studied together on the weekends, and met up in the cafeteria for lunch. With Ricky, I could express my fascination with films, the choreography, the cinematography, everything. He knows I want to be a great director. I want to bring musicals back to film. He knows I used to take private dance lessons, and that I memorized the lines and songs of every musical written by Rodgers and Hammerstein. My escape, when my parents gave each other the silent treatment, was to plug in the headphones and learn a new musical score. Ricky listens and encourages my dreams, and I encourage his.

  It wasn’t long before we noticed the smirks and laughter as we walked through the hallway together. It should have been okay. After all, the school has a Pride Club. But that didn’t stop David and his jock buddies, with their macho-righteous attitudes. They would block our passage into, or worse, out of the bathroom. When you’re trapped and scared and expect a quick knee to the groin, and then everyone goes their own way, you know who owns the school. No teacher saying, “Watch it, boys.” Just the guys having fun.

  It’s so rare that Ricky and I find time to be alone. Mom is always home, writing in her office, and Ricky’s family, though they know he is gay, is not so accepting that he is also a sexual being. Ricky and I were told that under no circumstances were we to hang out in his bedroom. No such rules for Ricky’s older sister, Anita. Apparently being gay means being celibate. But his mom never said we couldn’t go swimming together.

  When Ricky emerges, I wrap my arms around his waist and place my lips on his, tasting the water. Finally touching. I want him to feel the heat running through my blood. He stands in front of a boulder at the edge of the shoreline and I ease him back against it, kissing his neck. Ricky lets out a sigh of relief and exhilaration.

  I hear a blast and something ricochets off the rock next to Ricky’s back. I’m so confused. I hear hollering in the distance, and then screaming in my ear. I look down. It’s coming from Ricky. Someone is yelling, something about queers, but I can’t understand it. I can’t make out any faces, just the shape of two people.

  I grab Ricky’s hand and pull him out into the water, his legs moving like the tin man.

  “Are you okay?” I ask. Ricky’s face is terror-stricken. His eyes are bulging and he stares straight ahead.

  “Come on. We have to swim away, now.” I try to pull Ricky into the deeper water. His arms and legs will not move. The white witch has turned him to stone. He just stands there, knee deep.

  “I’m going to teach two queens a lesson,” a voice declares, moving closer.

  “Jesus, Ricky, we have to get out of here. Someone is coming. We have to swim away,” I plead, but nothing snaps Ricky out of it. Hot tears run down my cheeks. Desperation clutches my heart. I have seen enough movies to know this is not going to end well.

  “Leave us alone!” I shout toward the voices. I reach out and slap Ricky across the face. Maybe it will shake him into action. Another shot, and I feel sharp pain in my thigh and butt, like bee stings. My hands instinctively move over my crotch. My thigh is numb. Ricky begins to shake uncontrollably. He is the lamb waiting for the wolf. Someone s
tands at the edge of the reservoir and I can see the barrel of a gun pointed in our direction. Another guy moves quickly into the water towards us and reaches out. He grabs Ricky’s arm from his statue of a body.

  “No!” I yell, and grab at any part of Ricky I can, trying to keep him away and safe. But I can’t hang on to his wet body, and I can’t let myself be pulled up the embankment with him. He’s being pulled out of my reach. My empty hands swipe the air where Ricky’s body should be.

  I turn towards the water, gulp air, and dive deep and far. My mind is racing for an idea of what to do. I can’t fight them. Ricky isn’t here. He has disappeared. I push myself through the water as far from the shore as I can until my lungs feel as if they will explode. My head breaks the surface, and I gasp for air.

  “So, you’re a faggot and a pussy,” the voice hollers. Another round of pellets sprays the water to my left.

  Ricky’s pale body levitates out of the water and lands on the edge of the bank like a mannequin. The shadows move closer. They kick him. He hardly reacts. It looks like they’re pulverizing a log. He doesn’t cry out, or twist away. Their boots thump against him and they laugh.

  “Come on out and help your boyfriend, faggot!” a voice yells. “We already fucked him up, there’s not much left for you.” They break into laughter. I keep my legs moving, try to slow my breathing, and swallow the sobs. A light comes on in the distance and I wonder if someone has reported a disturbance.

  “Come on, let’s go,” I hear one of them suggest. “If he doesn’t get the message, we’ll find him alone.”

  “Yeah, okay.” The other is bent over and grabs something off the shoreline. Then his arm flings back and I hear a splash to my left. God, I hope that’s not my phone.

  “Did you hear that, fucker? We’ll get you next time!” the first voice yells.