Heavy Metal Cowboy Blues-2
881 Words
That evening, I heard an unfamiliar male voice outside and went to a window to look downstairs. Damien was back, and he had a bicycle strapped down on top of his car. He got out and went around the other side to open the passenger door and help a fragile-looking, slender young man, probably no more than twenty years old or so, to stand up. In the fading light, I could see that he was bruised all over—at least, on the skin I could see.
I rushed outside and down the steps. “Hey, Damien. Can I help?” He gave me a grateful look.
“I would appreciate it. Why don’t you get Kenny here in the house to the back bedroom, while I grab some stuff from the car?”
“Sure thing.” Gently, I put an arm around the young man and helped him inside. He whimpered with every step, and I didn’t blame him. I guided him down the hall to the spare bedroom where he sat carefully on the bed.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, in a soft voice.
“Name’s Les, son. I ain’t nobody’s sir. Do you want to lie down?”
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
I helped him get comfortable in the bed and pulled up the covers. He groaned as he settled in, looking so frail and white against the dark-colored sheets. Overwhelmed by sadness, I kissed his forehead, tucked him in some more, and quietly left the room, shutting the door behind me.
Damien was in the front room, wheeling the bicycle to lean it against the wall near the TV. “What the hell happened to him?” I asked as I sat on the couch.
Damien sat down heavily on a nearby chair and rubbed his hands up and down his face. “Kenny got beat up last week by his roommate when the guy found out he was gay. Tossed him out on the street, with all his stuff. A neighbor saw the guy kicking him on the sidewalk and called the police. Dude was still yelling at him when they got there. They got Kenny to the hospital and somebody stored his stuff. He just got out today.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
“Does he have a job?”
“He was working as a courier downtown. Luckily his bicycle was locked up outside the apartment, or else the roommate might have wrecked it, too, out of spite. He destroyed everything else, apparently. Kenny’s TV, DVD player, all messed up. It’s like the bastard lost his mind because a ‘gay’ polluted his space. Makes me want to find the guy and help him change his opinion, preferably with my fists. Good thing he’s in jail.”
Was it bad that my d**k perked up at that?
“How do you know Kenny?”
“He delivers stuff to the gym all the time, and he teaches a spin class twice a month. Dude rides a fixie. Total bike geek. When someone else came to the gym with a delivery yesterday, I asked about Kenny and found out everything.”
“Man, that sucks. Well, let me know if I can help keep an eye on him. You know I get home around six o’clock. And you work late anyway. We can coordinate.”
He gave me a strange look. “You’d do that?”
I chose not to be offended. “Yeah, of course I would.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just…you’re a bit of a curmudgeon.”
“Are you trying to say I’m old and cranky?”
“Oh, no. You’re perfect, just a little crusty and a bit of a metal-phobe.”
“It’s just not my thing. You don’t like country.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve never heard you play any. It’s always rock or metal or some such.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t like it. Keith Urban is one of my favorites. Plus, my Mom made me listen to country classics when I was a kid. Over and over. I got sick of hearing Patsy Cline. Drove me nuts, man. I retaliated by playing AC/DC at full volume for weeks on end. She finally relented and we figured out how to share each other’s interests.”
I laughed at that. “Wow. That’s awesome. Your Mom sounds like a really cool lady.”
“She is. She would totally love you. Y’all could have a Patsy Cline lovefest. Just don’t invite me.” He shuddered.
“It’s tempting.”
“So now you know a little bit more about me. I’m not what you expected, right? Not everyone is evil or out to get you, you know. You need to loosen up.”
“I keep hearing that.”
“Then maybe you need to do it. And maybe I can find some metal or hard rock that you might actually appreciate.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Bring it on, metal boy.”
Before he could retort, I heard footsteps coming toward us. I turned to see Kenny walking toward us. He stopped next to the couch, one arm wrapped around his middle. He looked extremely pale, and he swayed a little.
Damien immediately went to him and placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Hey, hon, were we too loud?”
“What? No, no. Do you have any painkillers? I haven’t filled my prescription yet.”
“Sure, man. Have a seat somewhere. I’ll be right back.”
I got up off the couch in case he wanted to sit there, or maybe lie down. “Hey, why don’t I fill your prescription for you? Did the hospital call it in somewhere?” I asked.
Kenny sat down gingerly on the couch before he answered. “That would be so awesome. They sent it to Target.”
“Okay, give me your insurance card and your driver’s license. Oh, your cell phone number, too, in case they need to verify something.”
Damien returned right then with water and a bottle of Motrin. “His wallet’s on the table in the kitchen.”
I added Kenny’s cell phone number to my contacts, went to the kitchen to grab his wallet, and left on my errand.
- Writer
