Halloween Stories

I’m afraid Halloween has never been a time of great joy for me, as it is for so many others.  Well it may have been fun at first, but that didn’t last for long.  Yes, in the beginning I enjoyed dressing up and going out to get free candy, but that soon ended.  Why?  It seemed that whatever character I chose to dress up as quickly became the subject of ridicule.  No matter what I decided to be, a group of the other children would tease me, while some of the adults tried to convince me it wasn’t something a boy would want to be.  

What the hell?  I am a boy and that’s exactly what I wanted to be.  I couldn’t see anything wrong with it.  I’ve never been what you might call a boys’ boy though.  I’m not interested in sports, I don’t like hunting, fishing or working with gadgets.  I’ve never played with trucks, Legos, construction toys or most action figures.  The ones I liked best were often considered as being less boyish and they made fun of me for playing with them too. 

Look, I’m a blond haired, blue-eyed wimp, as far as most of my classmates are concerned.  I’ve always been small for my age and very easy to pick on, because I’m not very strong either.  Even in grade school the other students called me ‘Fairy Kerry’ (my name is Kerry Griffin), but at the time I wasn’t even sure what that name meant.  I knew it wasn’t supposed to be nice, but I had no idea about its sexual meaning.  I just thought it meant I was like one of the fairies in the Disney movies, ‘Sleeping Beauty’ or ‘Cinderella.’  I had no idea why they thought that, except that I was small like the fairies were, but that’s not the entire problem.  Let me back up a bit and fill you in about my real education. 

In first grade, I decided I wanted to be an animal for Halloween.  My dad suggested I could be a big, ferocious lion, but I don’t like mean animals like that.  They not only kill other animals, but sometimes they kill people too.  I decided I wanted to be something nice, like a kitty or a puppy, and my mother found a cute puppy costume at one of the local stores.  On the day of our party at school, I was teased, mercilessly, about my costume and the older kids called me ‘faggot’ and ‘gay’ when I rode on the bus after the party at school.  I had absolutely no idea why they were doing this, because I thought the puppy costume was cute, but they were really mean to me for wearing it. 

Since I had so much grief the previous year, when I was in second grade I refused to dress up for Halloween and I wouldn’t go out trick-or-treating.  My parents wanted to know why I didn’t want to go out that year and asked if anything was wrong, but I wouldn’t tell them.  I just said I wasn’t interested this time and they let it go at that. 

The following year I decided to give it another try.  I didn’t have anything in mind to start with, but we’d been studying about dinosaurs in class and a couple of boys said I should go as T-Rex.  I guess they were trying to help me be a little more acceptable, so I thought about it, but I didn’t want to be a mean, nasty T-Rex that killed other things.  That just wasn’t me.  I wouldn’t mind being an animal again, just not a vicious one. 

Then one day my dad asked me to watch a Harry Potter DVD with him and it had a unicorn in it.   I had never seen one before and thought it was absolutely beautiful.  It looked to me to be the type of animal that someone really important or very rich would want to have.  My parents tried to talk me out of doing this, but I was determined.  The only concession I made was that I wasn’t going to wear it at school.  I’d totally given up on doing anything with the other kids, because they always made fun of me.  As far as I was concerned, I’d already received a lifetime’s worth of crap from them and it wasn’t only about my Halloween costumes. 

I really sucked in P.E. class and the other kids loved to mock my feeble attempts at sports, even something as simple as kickball.  However, the jokes and ridicule didn’t stop there.  They also tormented me whenever I knew the right answers in class and would call me a show off or teacher’s pet.  I even got shit about getting good grades on my report card and I always thought that’s what we were supposed to do.  No matter what I did, it always seemed to be wrong. 

Anyway, when I wore my unicorn outfit out to go door-to-door in the neighborhood, I tried to stay really close to home, but some of the other kids still spotted me.  I’m not sure how they knew it was me, but they did, so they ran over and began to push me around.  After someone knocked me to the ground, they began spitting on me and taunting that I was a ‘girly horsey with a horn.’  Of course, I also received a slew of homophobic slurs, but I still didn’t know what most of them meant.  I just knew that the words they were using weren’t nice and supposed to make me feel bad – and they did. 

I didn’t go out the next two years after that, but in sixth grade I finally relented again.  By this time, I had some idea about why I was being picked on and what the words gay, faggot, homo and queer meant.  I figured this year I’d just go as a pirate.  What could be more manly than that?  Except I didn’t want to be just any pirate, I wanted to be Captain Jack Sparrow.  He was way cooler than most of the other pirates and I even learned to imitate the way he talked.  I figured no one could find fault with this, but boy was I wrong. 

“Oh my God!” one of my tormentors exclaimed, when he saw me out that night.  “Griffin is a gay pirate.  When he says ‘blow me down,’ he really means it.” 

This drew laughs from his friends, which kept up until the next comment was made.  

“Where’s his gay blade?” one of the others wanted to know. 

“He’s not into swords, he just wants to wear the earrings and colorful bandanas,” one of his friends added.  “That’s because he’s a butt-pirate.” 

The guys with him thought this comment was hilarious and began to roar.  When they finally stopped laughing they began to shove me around.  They knocked me down in the dirt, kicked me in the side and spit on me again, but then one of them made a threat that terrified me. 

“Hey, let’s strip him and make him run home naked,” one of them jeered.  “Maybe he’ll get lucky and get a cock shoved up his ass on the way home.  I bet he’d even prefer to get a dick instead of candy.” 

That did it.  I had to get away from them.  Fortunately, I was currently lying at the top of a small knoll, so I quickly rolled away from them and then hopped up and ran as fast as I ever have.  I raced directly home, burst through the front door and flew to my room.  I stayed there, alone, for the rest of the night. 

This episode ruined Halloween for me for good.  There was no way I was ever going out again.  I hated Halloween and I was beginning to despise having to go to school, even though I was a fairly decent student.  I even got ridiculed when I sang, because all the guys said I sang and acted like a girl.  Is there no end to this abuse?

From that point on, I began to cringe whenever we entered October, because I knew before long everyone would start asking what I was going to be this year.  When I told them I wasn’t going out, a few of them suggested I wouldn’t need to dress up and I could just go out and raise hell like the rest of them.   Since I realized these guys weren’t really my friends, their suggestion didn’t appeal to me.  I concluded no good would come out of doing anything like that, because what they did to have fun would only end up being hell for me.  That’s what they really meant by wanting to ‘raise hell.’

No matter how hard I tried to fit in, the minute I did anything they didn’t feel was manly enough they’d begin their gay bashing and making fun of me as usual.  No thank you.  I can be miserable at home – I don’t need their help to feel badly. 

Even though I had given up on Halloween, it doesn’t mean I didn’t still get picked on even though I didn’t dress up.  When I was in middle school, in seventh grade, I came to school on Halloween and I thought I was dressed normally, but all hell still broke loose. 

“Hey, Griffin, where’s your costume?” someone yelled.  “I was sure you’d come to school dressed like that gay guy on ‘Glee.’

What?  Leave me alone.  I dressed normally today hoping I’d just blend in. 

“Oh, yeah.  He’d make a great Kurt Hummel and he could go around looking for a boyfriend,” a girl added, in a whiny, irritating voice. 

“He really would have been great as ‘the faggot of song," someone else added, derisively. 

“Maybe he could grow up to be the ‘TV faggot’s’ replacement,” another jeered.  “The guy who plays Kurt is getting older and will be graduating eventually, so they’ll need some one to replace him.” 

Fuck, I was getting abused even when I didn’t do anything. 

Look, I may only have been thirteen at the time, but I was no longer dumb.  By then I knew I was definitely gay, but I didn’t flaunt it.  I just wasn’t interested in girls – I only wanted to focus on the handsome boys.  I don’t care if I did this in real life (although I did have to be careful so I didn’t get caught), when I watched television or when I went to see a movie.  I always zeroed in on the cute guy, not the hot chick.  I’m sorry if you don’t like that or don’t agree with it, but it’s just who I am, so get over it.  I didn’t choose to be this way and there’s nothing I can do about it, so just leave me alone.  Let me live my life and stop trying to change me. 

This year I’m a freshman in high school, so I tried to talk my parents into letting me drop out of school.  The problem with that idea is that I’m only fifteen, so it isn’t really an option.  Then I tried to get them to agree to home school me instead, but since both of my parents work this isn’t an option either.  I’ve even considered suicide, just to avoid the daily harassment I have to put up with, but as of yet I haven’t opted to go that route either.  It may eventually come to that, however, because I’m just so sick and tired of being picked on all of the time.  The only reason I haven’t done it yet is because I know it will destroy my parents.  Since they’ve never done anything wrong, have always been supportive of my choices and treated me decently, I don’t want them to think that I hated them or I was trying to get away from them by doing this.  It’s just that I can no longer endure the taunts and harassment that I have shoved in my face every day. 

Since I knew things always seemed worse on Halloween, I did everything I could to stay home from school that day.  It’s not that Halloween is a big deal in high school, but I’ve learned that I don’t want to be around the jerks that go to my school on a normal day, but today will be even worse.  On a normal day I’d get shoved around, called all kinds of obscene names and more than likely have at least one mean prank pulled on me, so I could only imagine what today was going to be like.  However, my parents weren’t about to let me take the day off. 

Things didn’t start out too badly though, but the situation began to change drastically between second and third periods.  It all started when I had to pee.  I thought I’d just duck into the men’s room quickly and take care of business, but as soon as I went in, the shit began to hit the proverbial fan. 

“Zip up, boys.  Fag alert!” one of them yelled. 

I was tempted to turn around and leave, but I just had to pee too badly to be able to go that route.  Instead, I went over to the cubicle, instead of going over to the row of urinals.  I figured that way they wouldn’t think I was trying to catch a glimpse of their junk. 

“Must be he needs to sit down to pee,” one of them offered, mockingly.  “Hope he doesn’t get any on his panties.” 

Damn, why did they have to be in here now?  Why couldn’t this place have been empty when I entered?  I guess I should have raised my hand and asked to go before the last period ended, but my teachers don’t like to let anyone go just before the bell.  Damn, I knew this was going to be a miserable day. 

When I was done urinating, and no I didn’t sit down, I got ready to leave.  Hopefully they’d seen my feet and heard the stream hit the bowl, so they’d know I had relieved myself while standing.  After I flushed, I came out and began to wash my hands in the sink.  Obviously this is another thing that none of them do. 

“Awww, look.  His mommy taught him to wash his hands afterward,” one of them stated, in a childish tone.  “Make sure you wash all your widdle fingers and get all those nasty germies.” 

His friends were all laughing as I rinsed my hands, and then I turned off the water, grabbed a paper towel and began to dry them.  I did it quickly and got out of there as soon as I could. 

To make matters worse, I had P.E. that afternoon.  I tried to get there as quickly as I could, so I’d have time to change into my shorts and get to the gym before most of the rest of them got there.  I felt a whole lot safer when a teacher was around to keep the others off my back.  I managed to get out of the locker room quickly and things didn’t go too badly during class, but I wasn’t out of the woods yet.  It was when we were changing back into our school clothes that the next set of taunts began. 

“Oh, Kerry.  Come here.  I’ve got your Halloween treat for you,” one of the macho jerks teased, as he grabbed his package. 

He had taken his shorts off and was clad only in his boxers at the time, but I wasn’t about to look up and see what he was doing.  I only glanced in his direction out of the corner of my eye. 

“Don’t you mean his ‘Hallo-weenie’ treat?” one of his friends corrected. 

“Maybe you need to unwrap your candy bar for him,” another of his friends suggested. 

“Yeah, unwrap it and shove it up his butt,” another advised.  “I’m sure he’d love that.”  

“Hey, fags like musicals, so let’s give him a “Chorus Line” review,” the first guy added. 

At that point all four of them lined up side-by-side, whipped out their penises and began to sway their hips from side-to-side, so it looked as if their cocks were doing a dance.  I just grabbed the rest of my clothes and backpack and raced out of the locker room.  I had my pants on, so it was safe for me to go out in the hall without embarrassing myself and then I could put on my shirt, socks and shoes there. 

They were all laughing hysterically as I tore out of there and people looked at me oddly as I sat in the hallway and finished getting dressed.  I didn’t care what they thought.  At least I felt a little safer being out here in the open, than in the locker room with those assholes.  They wanted me to look at their dicks so they’d have an excuse to wail on me.  If I had done that, then they would have been able to claim that I was coming on to them or checking them out, so they could claim they’d just ‘reacted’ and beat the crap out of me.  I wasn’t about to fall into that trap and there was no one else in there that I thought might have come to my defense if something like that did occur. 

Those guys must have told everyone they knew about what they’d done in the locker room, but from what I heard later it seems as if they embellished their story to make it sound as if I had actually been interested.  For that reason, the ride home on the bus was pure torture, because a bunch of the guys that rode on it with me kept asking if I’d liked the show.  In fact, one of those jerks even walked over to my seat, shoved his crotch in my face and whipped out his dick.  No one else could really see what he was doing, because the seat backs are so high, but he was tempting me to look at it or touch it.  Instead, I closed my eyes and turned my head toward the window.  Of course, I’d been sitting by myself, so no one else was there to verify my statement, if I chose to report what he did.  They sure know how to play this game so they can get away with what they’re doing. 

By the time we reached my stop, I flew off the bus and began running toward my house.  I was determined that today would be the day when I would finally end it all.  I wasn’t going to put up with this crap any longer and I wasn’t going to stick around so they could continue to abuse me to get their laughs.  Today was the day I was finally going to act. 

As I approached my front door, I was in for another surprise.  Some guy was standing on the doorstep, but facing the street.  He looked to be just a little older than me, but I’d never seen him before.  Was he here to heap more abuse upon me or was he going to try to convince me to do something with him so he could tell the rest of the world about it if I agreed?  As I started up the sidewalk and approached the front door, he spoke. 

“Don’t do it, Kerry.  It’s not worth it,” he stated. 

It startled me that he seemed to know my name and had some idea about what I was planning to do.  I decided to play dumb. 

“Do what?” I challenged.  “You don’t know me or anything about me, and I definitely don’t know who the fuck you are.” 

“Look, I understand what you’re going through, because I used to have to put up with that same bullshit too,” he announced.  “They’re assholes, but they’ll eventually grow out of it, so you just have to survive long enough for them to do that or hang in there until you go to college.  It will get better.” 

“Look, I don’t know you or what you’re talking about,” I responded.  “Just let me go inside.  I’m through talking to you.” 

“You think suicide is the answer, but it’s not,” he announced, boldly. 

I’m certain my mouth must have dropped open and my chin probably hit the ground.  How the hell could he know that’s what I was planning to do?  What the fuck is going on here?”

“Look, I’m sure you mean well, but you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” I challenged. 

I was hoping my comment would cause him to turn around and leave, but he didn’t move. 

“Kerry, I know you think you’re in a living hell, but just hang in there,” he stated, soothingly.  “Things will get better.  You just have to trust me.” 

“Why should I trust you?  I don’t even know you,” I spat back.  “Just leave me alone.  It’s my life and I’ll do what I want with it.” 

“And that includes wasting it, I see,” he replied.  “Look, don’t do it.  If you do, then they’ll win and you’ll lose.  Your family will lose too and they’re going to suffer even more after you do this than you’re suffering now.  Don’t put them through that.  They don’t deserve it, do they?” 

“Who the hell are you and what do you know about this?” I asked, very directly. 

“Look, can we go inside and discuss this?” he asked.  “I think you’ve already raised your voice enough out here to get the entire neighborhood to listen in to see what’s going on.” 

I’ll give him that much.  I had kind of created a minor scene.  I finally relented to his suggestion, unlocked the door and asked him to come inside. 

“So are you going to tell me who you are?” I pressed. 

“My name is Jamie Stranghorn,” he replied, “and I had to put up with the same type of gay bashing that you’re dealing with now.” 

“How the fuck do you know what I’m dealing with?” I challenged.  “Do you go to McKinley too?” 

“No, I went to Jefferson, but it was basically the same thing,” he answered.  “I was like you and thought that killing myself was the only option, but it’s not.  Don’t let them win and don’t put your family through that hell.  If you love your parents and they haven’t had a problem with your sexual identity and have been supportive, then don’t put them through the torture of having to bury you and grieve over your loss.” 

“I don’t think they even know I’m gay,” I responded. 

“Sure they do,” he countered.  “If your schoolmates have figured it out, then they have too.  It’s not something you can really hide from them easily.” 

I thought about what he’d said and concluded he might be right.  They saw the things I was interested in, knew what Halloween costumes I preferred, what toys I liked… Yes, they probably did know, but have chosen not to make a big deal about it.  Maybe he is right. 

We talked this over for a while longer, but he wouldn’t leave until I promised him I wouldn’t harm myself.  Even though I was ready to when I first arrived home, he convinced me to talk to my parents first and see if we couldn’t come up with another option.  He even offered a few suggestions I could present to them, so I thanked him and gave him a hug before he left. 

That night, when my parents came home from work, I asked if we could sit down and talk about something.  They agreed, so we went into the living room.  As soon as they were comfortable, I informed them I was gay and that I was being harassed at school. 

After hearing my confession, they admitting that they’d suspected I was gay.  Other than that, my father wanted to rush down to the school and start raising hell.  He wanted to get the people who’d been bothering me either suspended or expelled, but I told him that probably wouldn’t do much good.  I explained that it wasn’t just a small group of people that were involved, and even if some of them were disciplined for what they’d done, the others would probably treat me worse after that happened. 

As an alternative, I suggested a private school that Jamie had mentioned.  He’d told me it wasn’t unreasonably priced and the students there were a lot more tolerant than at my school.  When I explained this to my parents, my dad immediately made a call to that school, so he could get some basic information from them.  When he got off the phone, he asked me to go with him, because he was going to drive over to the school and pick up the transfer papers, some informational brochures and take a quick look around the campus. 

I was thrilled that he was willing to consider doing this for me, so we drove over to the address he’d been given.  It was a nice place, even though it consisted of an older set of buildings, but they seemed to be well cared for.  The secretary and principal also seemed to be very nice and helpful when we met them.  After gathering up all the things they gave us, we returned home to show them to my mother.  We sat down to talk about it over dinner. 

When we finished eating, both my mom and dad said they wanted to talk this over and then they’d get back to me.  I also heard them call my grandparents, so they could discuss the situation with them too.  When they got off the phone a short time later, we sat down to talk again. 

“Your grandparents have both offered to chip in and help us come up with enough money to cover the tuition for you to go to the private school,” my dad told me, “so if this is really what you want to do, then I’ll enroll you tomorrow.  I’ll put the tuition on one of the credit cards and your grandparents will send us checks to cover some of the bill later.” 

Damn, I was excited and couldn’t believe that we might have finally come up with a way to get me out of that hellhole.  If this place is as good as Jamie told me, then I might be able to turn things around.  Believe it or not, I actually couldn’t wait to go there the next day.  Imagine that, I was actually anxious to go to school. 

The next morning, my dad drove me to my new school.  After we handed in the appropriate paperwork to enroll me and have my records transferred from my previous school, he gave them the information they needed to cover the tuition.  After that, I was taken to the guidance office so I could get my class schedule.  The guidance counselor was very friendly and extremely accommodating.  She quickly set me up in the same classes I was currently taking at my old school, so I wasn’t going to lose a thing.  She also sent for another student to guide me around for the day and show me where my classes were.  It turned out he has the same schedule that I do, so I followed him to my first class, which had already started. 

During the day, I discovered my guide, Adam, was very friendly and I talked to him more than I had to almost anyone else at my old school during the two and a half months I’d been there.  He also introduced me to a handful of other students and they invited me to sit with them at lunch.  Holy shit!  I usually just sat alone at the end of a table and avoided making eye contact with anyone else.  Here, it seems as if I’m going to have a group of others to chat with. 

My first day there was terrific and the rest of the week went just as well.  By the end of the second week, I was so happy and doing way better than I could have ever imagined, and all this because of one guy.  I wanted to find a way to thank Jamie for ‘butting in’ to my business and giving me hope. 

When I got home that evening, I decided to see if Jamie was on Facebook, but I couldn’t find his name there.  Switching gears, I decided to Google his name and see if anything popped up.  If it didn’t, I remembered he said he went to Jefferson, so I’d try to find him there. 

When I did the search on Google, his name came up.  It was some kind of newspaper article, but I figured I’d check it out and see if it mentioned where he lived.  When I brought the article up on the screen, the first thing I noticed was a picture of Jamie.  It was definitely the same guy, but he was dressed in a suit and tie and looked really handsome.  Then I saw the headline that went with the article and I nearly fall off my chair.  It read, “Local Gay Teenager Commits Suicide.”  This couldn’t be true!  He was the one who talked ME out of doing it.  Now, I had to read the article. 

“A 17-year old junior at Jefferson High committed suicide yesterday,” the article began.  “Police report that the teen had been depressed about excessive bullying at his school.  In doing their investigation, authorities discovered that Stranghorn was gay and taunted by his classmates because of his sexual orientation. 

“According to the police report,” the article continued, “Stranghorn went home after school, retrieved his father’s shotgun, loaded it and took it into the bathroom.  No one was home at the time to hear the blast, but he died immediately.  The parents have gone into seclusion and are refusing to talk about this incident.  A family friend reported that the parents knew their son was gay and having problems at school, but they’d been working to rectify the situation.  The spokeswoman stated that his parents never suspected his problems would lead him to go to this extreme.  The family friend also reported that Jamie was a lovely, sensitive boy who got very good grades. 

“Funeral arrangement have not been confirmed, but it’s been suggested that the family will hold a small, private service for him.” 

After I finished reading, I looked at the date.  Holy fuck!  This can’t be.  He died a little over two years ago.  No way!  If he died that long ago, then how the hell did I talk to him on Halloween?  I didn’t know what to think. 

This bothered me all night long.  How could this be true?  How the hell could I speak with someone who was dead? 

The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I should contact Jamie’s parents about this.  I’m not sure if they’ll believe what I have to say, but I’m hoping that I might be able to provide them with some peace of mind by knowing their son had managed to save me from doing the same thing.  Would it possibly also help them if I told them that Jamie suggested I didn’t want to put my parents through such hell?  Was it possible that he had seen how his own parents had suffered and then regretted his rash actions?  Had he witnessed the misery his mom and dad had endured and then sought to prevent my parents from going through the same misery?  Would it bring Jamie’s parents some comfort to know that?  I wasn’t sure. 

I finally decided to talk this over with my parents first.  If they didn’t believe me, then how would Jamie’s parents?  When I brought this up, their first reaction was one of total shock.  They couldn’t believe that I’d ever considered suicide, but once they got over that, then we were able to deal with the supernatural aspect of my story. 

“I’m not saying I believe in ghosts,” my dad began, “but something otherworldly obviously happened here.  I’m not sure if I really understand or can explain it, but I’m not going to deny it either.” 

“I know we would have been totally devastated if you’d have killed yourself,” my mother followed, “and I’m sure the other boy’s parents were devastated too.  I know if something like that had happened though, it might make me feel better knowing that you appeared to someone else, showed remorse and prevented the other boy from doing the same thing.” 

“Yes, I agree,” my dad concurred.  “If something good came out of such a tragic death, then I’d definitely want to know about it as well.  I think it might even take away some of the pain I’d been feeling.  It wouldn’t totally make me feel better or relieve my guilt, but I think it would help.”

That did it.  I was convinced that this was what I needed to do.  Now, all I had to do is find the courage to actually pull it off.  I also had to come up with a home address for the Stranghorns, so I could tell my parents where we had to go, but my dad ended up taking care of that problem for me.  When he looked in the phonebook there was only one Stranghorn listed and the address was in the Jefferson school district, so we concluded they had to be the ones.   Didn’t they? 

To make it easier for me to do, my mom and dad offered to go with me.  They said we could drive over on Saturday morning and, hopefully, Jamie’s parents would be home when we got there.  That way, I’d be able to tell them about my experience and offer them a few words of solace. 

On Saturday morning, we all dressed nicely, got in the car and drove over to the address my dad had written down.  After parking on the street, we walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell.  A few seconds later, a woman opened the door. 

“Mrs. Stranghorn?” my dad asked, and she answered in the affirmative. 

“Is your husband home?” and she answered in the affirmative again. 

“I know you don’t know us, but we have something we liked to share with you and your husband,” my dad continued, and she looked at him oddly, before calling her husband to join us. 

“Is there a problem?” he asked, when he arrived at the door. 

“Not a problem,” my mother responded, “but we’d like to come in and talk to you and your wife, if we may.” 

“And what is this concerning?” the husband asked. 

“I know this is going to sound a little strange,” my mother answered, “but my son would like to share some information with you about your son.” 

The Stranghorns looked at each other in mild surprise, but then invited us inside.  They led us into a room and asked us to sit down, and then Mrs. Stranghorn asked if we’d care for a drink.  We thanked here for her offer, but declined.  Then her husband looked at us and spoke. 

“What do you know about our son?” he asked, while staring directly at me. 

“Please listen carefully to what I have to say, and please try to remain open minded about what I tell you,” I began. 

I then went on to tell them I was gay and how I’d been tormented at school for most of my life.  I also explained what happened on Halloween day and how I was determined to go home and end my life.  I finished by telling them how I got off the bus, raced to the house and found Jamie waiting there for me. 

“What was he wearing?” his mother asked. 

This seemed like an odd question, but I answered her anyway. 

“He was wearing jeans, a USC t-shirt and a black leather jacket,” I replied. 

I wasn’t sure why this information was important, but his mother let out a slight gasp when she’d heard my answer and put her hand over her mouth.  She sat speechless for the next few moments, so her husband spoke in her place.  

“Jamie had planned to go to USC after high school,” he began, “and the jacket you described was his favorite.  I don’t know how you could have known about those things, because in the photo we gave to the police and was used in the newspaper, he was dressed in a suit.” 

“I don’t know how it happened, but you must have seen our son,” Jamie’s mother finally added.  “Please tell us more.” 

I then went on to tell them about the rest of our conversation and how he’d recommended the private school to me, but I had one more piece of information I wanted them to hear. 

“When he talked me out of killing myself, Jamie told me I didn’t want to do that to my parents,” I confessed.  “He said if they’d loved me and been supportive, then I should consider them first, before I thought about my own problems.  He said I’d be leaving them behind suffering a far greater pain than I’d ever endured.  After I learned what he’d done, I take it that he must have seen how the two of you suffered as a result of his actions and he regretted that deeply.  He did his best to keep me from making the same mistake and was able to keep me from hurting my parents in the same way he’d hurt you, so I thought you might want to know that.” 

Suddenly, Jamie’s parents hugged each other and his mother began to cry.  I felt awkward sitting there watching her, but I didn’t think we should just get up and leave.  Finally, she regained her composure and turned to face us again. 

“I can’t sufficiently express to you how grateful I am that you came here today to tell us this,” she began.  “You obviously had contact with our son, even though I don’t understand how that could be possible, but you’ve also given us the answers to some of the questions we’ve had since that day.  Thank you so much for having the courage to come over here and share this information with us.  I know it couldn’t have been an easy decision for you to make.” 

“Actually, it was,” I replied.  “Since Jamie had saved my life, I figured the least I could do was try to repay the favor.  If what I had to tell you could provide you with even a sliver of peace or help to ease your pain in the slightest, it was worth the risk of coming over here and not being believed.” 

After they thanked me again, we said goodbye and my parents and I left their house.  As it turned out, Jamie had not only saved me, but he had also found a way to partially make it up to his parents.  At least now they understood why he did this and that he was sorry for having made that choice.  Maybe something good did come out of this Halloween after all. 

 

THE END.