heard one of the cheerleaders mutter, “Well, who’d want to?” and they all doubled over in giggles.
First time I saw him, I knew that what I felt was wrong, even though I probably wasn’t old enough to know why. Was it wrong then, if I didn’t know? I never really got why it was all supposed to be so dreadfully wrong anyway. It was all way too complicated for me.
I’d heard about him from Mom and his daddy told me how I was going to like him so much. How he and I were going to be the very best of friends. We would be the closest brother and sister ever.
I was sitting on the top of the stairs in our old house. He was at the bottom. He looked so much older than me, I was kind of scared. I knew that everyone called him ‘Baz,’ except for the Asshat, his dad. He called him ‘Balt,’ which sounded completely stupid. Nobody called him by his name.
His name was from the Bible. It was the name of one of the three kings, the wise men. The Magi, some people called them. I liked the sound of that, ‘Magi.’ It was like ‘magic.’
Standing in the pool of light at the bottom of the stairs with his shaggy, curly blond hair, he looked somewhat angelic. At least, he had, until he turned to look up at me and I saw his eyes and twisty smile. I felt like my insides melted and splashed out of me, and cascaded down the steps.
It was then that I realized he could see straight up my skirt. I knew that I should move, to close my legs or pull my skirt tighter. It was kinda hard not to. But it gave me a dark sensation, a thrill that I never forgot. It was so very wrong. And I wanted it, again and again.
The Asshat was in the kitchen. I overheard him telling my Mom, “His mother was cruel and callous to give him that ridiculous name.” His eyes darkened as he overheard his father.
His blond curls bobbed as he came slowly up the stairs. An electric tingle ran from my stomach down into my panties as he came nearer. That tingle I had only felt a couple of times before. Times when something good somehow felt really bad, or when something bad felt really, really good.
He muttered in that whisper of his, said what was cruel was for his Mom to die so soon and in the way that she did. As it slipped out under his breath, I got the idea that he blamed his daddy for her dying. I didn’t really know why I thought that.
So nobody used his name and he certainly never threw it around. He was always introduced as ‘Baz,’ and that was that.
That first night they stayed over in our house, he shared my room. There wasn’t another room spare, although he could have slept on the couch in the living room. The Asshat slept in Mom’s room, of course.
In the darkness he whispered to me, and told me, “She gave me the name and I keep it special.” He shone a flashlight in my face. “You heard him diss it, so he never gets to use it.” In the darkness, the anger glowed in his eyes. “Ne.Ver.”
“I want you to call me by my real name,” he said, “But only when we’re alone. Never when there’s anyone else, anyone at all who might hear it, you understand?”
“Even Mom and your Daddy?”
His voice was hard, “Especially them.”
And that was when he told me what it was. The word crackled through me, like the tingle on the stairs and with the same charge.
Balthazar.
When Mom told me that we had to move in with Balthazar’s daddy, she said that their ‘big apartment’ was much better than our little house. I didn’t see why. It was way high in an apartment block downtown. A house seemed much better than that.
You had your own door on to the street and you didn’t have to wait for an elevator to go out or to come back in. You could open all the windows and we had a yard out back with grass and some flowers.
Balthazar’s Daddy’s apartment had what Mom said was a view of the river. That meant that you could see a couple of cranes and a big bridge, way off in the distance and through the
First time I saw him, I knew that what I felt was wrong, even though I probably wasn’t old enough to know why. Was it wrong then, if I didn’t know? I never really got why it was all supposed to be so dreadfully wrong anyway. It was all way too complicated for me.
I’d heard about him from Mom and his daddy told me how I was going to like him so much. How he and I were going to be the very best of friends. We would be the closest brother and sister ever.
I was sitting on the top of the stairs in our old house. He was at the bottom. He looked so much older than me, I was kind of scared. I knew that everyone called him ‘Baz,’ except for the Asshat, his dad. He called him ‘Balt,’ which sounded completely stupid. Nobody called him by his name.
His name was from the Bible. It was the name of one of the three kings, the wise men. The Magi, some people called them. I liked the sound of that, ‘Magi.’ It was like ‘magic.’
Standing in the pool of light at the bottom of the stairs with his shaggy, curly blond hair, he looked somewhat angelic. At least, he had, until he turned to look up at me and I saw his eyes and twisty smile. I felt like my insides melted and splashed out of me, and cascaded down the steps.
It was then that I realized he could see straight up my skirt. I knew that I should move, to close my legs or pull my skirt tighter. It was kinda hard not to. But it gave me a dark sensation, a thrill that I never forgot. It was so very wrong. And I wanted it, again and again.
The Asshat was in the kitchen. I overheard him telling my Mom, “His mother was cruel and callous to give him that ridiculous name.” His eyes darkened as he overheard his father.
His blond curls bobbed as he came slowly up the stairs. An electric tingle ran from my stomach down into my panties as he came nearer. That tingle I had only felt a couple of times before. Times when something good somehow felt really bad, or when something bad felt really, really good.
He muttered in that whisper of his, said what was cruel was for his Mom to die so soon and in the way that she did. As it slipped out under his breath, I got the idea that he blamed his daddy for her dying. I didn’t really know why I thought that.
So nobody used his name and he certainly never threw it around. He was always introduced as ‘Baz,’ and that was that.
That first night they stayed over in our house, he shared my room. There wasn’t another room spare, although he could have slept on the couch in the living room. The Asshat slept in Mom’s room, of course.
In the darkness he whispered to me, and told me, “She gave me the name and I keep it special.” He shone a flashlight in my face. “You heard him diss it, so he never gets to use it.” In the darkness, the anger glowed in his eyes. “Ne.Ver.”
“I want you to call me by my real name,” he said, “But only when we’re alone. Never when there’s anyone else, anyone at all who might hear it, you understand?”
“Even Mom and your Daddy?”
His voice was hard, “Especially them.”
And that was when he told me what it was. The word crackled through me, like the tingle on the stairs and with the same charge.
Balthazar.
When Mom told me that we had to move in with Balthazar’s daddy, she said that their ‘big apartment’ was much better than our little house. I didn’t see why. It was way high in an apartment block downtown. A house seemed much better than that.
You had your own door on to the street and you didn’t have to wait for an elevator to go out or to come back in. You could open all the windows and we had a yard out back with grass and some flowers.
Balthazar’s Daddy’s apartment had what Mom said was a view of the river. That meant that you could see a couple of cranes and a big bridge, way off in the distance and through the
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