Disclaimer: I do not own "As Told By Ginger" or any of the characters other than Damian, who is fully of my own doing. I do not claim to own any of this and am only writing this story for non-profit fun.
Warning: This story contains homosexual relationships; if this is not up your ally, turn back now. You have been warned.
Chpt. 10 – A Father's Hand
With numb hands, Carl Foutley folded the piece of paper in his hands and placed it in his right front pocket before turning his blind eyes to his locker. The combination on the lock "whizzed" from point to point almost as fast as Carl's mind tried to make sense of things. This morning he had thought the world was coming to an end, and it looked like that was still the most likely probability, but now there was help behind enemy lines.
'Winston's on our side.'
The words were scrawled and barely readable, but they left no doubt what the sides were and the risk he placed himself at. The last number clicked into place on the lock and Carl, not truly in control of his body at the present time, flung the door open with more force than was necessary only to hear a loud "thunk" and a distant groan, only it wasn't so distant. As the metal door to the locker bounced back from it's obvious collision with something, a purple hooded figure was revealed and seemed to be holding his head. It took Carl all of five seconds to realize what had happened before the words came tumbling out of his mouth.
"Hoodsie, I'm so sorry…I didn't mean to…"
A hand was suddenly clamped with a death grip over Carl's mouth.
"If you were mad at me you could have just said so."
The words were lighthearted and anyone would have quickly recognized that, while Hoodsie was in a good deal of pain, he was not angry about the incident.
"If I let go of your mouth do you promise to not try and make the headache worse again?"
He used his free hand to point to his ears and then gave the signal for "Tone it down." Carl nodded rather solemnly and, upon the release of his face from Hoodise's palm quickly muttered "sorry." Hoodsie stood by silently as Carl gathered the things from his locker and picked at a bit of peeling paint while he waited. Finally the last book slid into Carl's bag and he slung it over one shoulder while the sound of metal clanging echoed down the hall from his locker being slammed shut. Rubbing the lump on the side of his head, Hoodsie thought that he'd never look at a locker the same again.
Outside the air was crisp, not cold, but crisp, just as it should be at the beginning of the Fall. Carl tightened the left strap on his book-bag, the only one he wore, and Hoodsie unconsciously pulled his hood tighter over his face in the lee of sunlight. The leaves were just tinged with red and orange, and for just a second Carl thought that maybe the world wasn't so bad. But then he remembered everything that was going on. He stopped walking without warning, looking at his shoes, one of which was about to come untied. On the toe of his left shoe was a scuffmark that he had obtained when running off school grounds after one of the pranks set by he and Hoodsie had backfired and they were caught. He tried to let that consume all of his thoughts. Ahead of him, Hoodsie finally came to a stop as well. He didn't turn or even make any sort of indication that he was speaking to anyone in particular, but the words were enough.
"Don't…forcing it out won't help, just let it go on it's own…slam my head in a locker again if it helps, but don't force it…"
Carl looked up from his shoe, at the back of his best friends head, and something inside him reminded him to be grateful that it's not all bad.
The days had passed like a very slow, very numb hell for Carl Foutley. As the week progressed, each day brought him new hope of a better world, and each day was the cause of new-shattered hope. He hadn't spoken to Blake at all. Everyday was the same, Winston stood in the back of the class, hovering over Blake like a mother hawk over her children, and Blake only sent him angry glares. Hoodsie seemed dead set on not even acting like anything had happened, and rather tried his best to insult Blake almost more than would have been normal beforehand.
At home, things proceeded, as they normally would have, although Carl was beginning to think that there was a lot of talking when he left the room, but considering he was never in the room when it happened, he couldn't be sure. This afternoon was different though. It was just after school on Wednesday and Carl had basically been forced by Ginger to meet her outside the high school when he got out. He made the trip rather slowly, hoping that if he was late enough Ginger might give up on whatever stunt she had planned. Rounding the last corner he knew that his plan hadn't worked when he saw Ginger jump up from the front steps of the school and a grin like the Cheshire cat cross her face.
She took his hand as he neared and began to lead him around the school in a direction that he had never been, and probably would never remember, until they somehow emerged onto the blacktop courtyard out back. Seated across the blacktop, on top of a picnic table, was an Indian boy that Carl had never seen before. His mop of deep chocolate brown hair fell down around his ears and was a deep contrast to the glistening bronze of his skin. His eyes were closed, and his head bowed slightly, tilted toward his crossed legs. At first Carl thought that the boy held something in his lap, but it was only after a few moments that he realize the boy merely had his hands placed in an odd manner, fingertips pressed together while the palms remained as far apart as possible. The midday heat was still rising from the blacktop, giving the whole scene a look of otherworldly beauty, which caused him to gape until his sister's voice cut into his mind.
"You may want to close you mouth, you look rather stupid…"
Carl quickly closed his mouth and shot his sister a glare that she brushed off without even thinking about it.
"His name is Damian. He comes here everyday after school to meditate in the afternoon sun. Some of the kids around school say that he's able to talk to God, or Buddha, or whatever it is that controls the universe, and because of that they gave him the nickname of 'the twelfth grade Gandhi.' People come to him all the time for advice on things, but he supposedly only talks to those that are 'deemed worthy' though I'm not quite sure what that means. What I do know is that if you speak to him while he meditates, and he takes the time to speak back, you won't get any better advise."
She stopped talking abruptly, and Carl suddenly realized that she obviously wasn't going to tell him anymore and that must be his queue to head on over. But talking had never really been Carl's strong point, and he stared at his sister hoping for something more, and knowing that he wouldn't get it. Slowly he put one foot forward followed by the next, and soon found himself most of the way there without remembering going that far. The slim body of the other boy was getting closer, and Carl couldn't think for the life of him what he should say, and then he was right there and he had to say something.
"Umm…Hi…You probably don't know who I…"
Damian's lips seemed to move of their own accord as the words poured fourth.
"Carl Foutley, Grade 8, Age 14, Younger sibling of Ginger Foutley, good friend."
One of the boy's eyes opened to reveal a bright hazel eye that seemed to glimmer with some sort of inner force that Carl couldn't explain, and his mouth broke into a toothy grin. Carl noticed for some reason that his teeth were a brilliant white and perfectly strait, all but he left canine, which stuck out at an odd angle. Damian broke the arch that his hands were forming and waved at the table to his right, indicating that he should be seated. Damian looked up as Carl clambered onto the table and nodded in to the air. Carl only twisted his head about fast enough to barely catch a return nod from Ginger before she turned slowly and meandered back the way she had come.
Carl wanted to call out to her, tell her not to just leave him at a school he had never been to with some guy he had never met, but the words didn't seem to want to come. He suddenly came to the realization that there was a hand on his arm and turned back to the present situation.
"She will wait for you at home."
Damian spoke with a voice that seemed to impart more knowledge just words could convey and Carl suddenly found himself much more calm as he finished crawling onto the tabletop. The wood beneath him was warm and he ran his hands over it before he looked back up into a pair of calm, hazel eyes.
"What now?" Carl questioned.
"It was you that came to me, was it not?"
Damian's answer caused Carl to glance down, reddening slightly. It was true that he was the one that had come here, but after Ginger's explanation Carl reasoned he must have been waiting for an act of God or something. He tried to think quickly, to assemble a question or at least a statement that would fill the awkward silence, but Damian beat him to it.
"Something has been taken from you that was never truly yours but rather was it's own, and now you fear it lost, no?"
Carl gaped at the older boy before compiling the only thing that was running through his mind.
"She TOLD you?"
"Your sister? No, she told me nothing. I did not even know you were coming today, but that is the past and were are here to talk about the now, no?"
The Indian boy's constant questioning was beginning to annoy Carl for reasons he couldn't quite understand, but he decided to put up with it for now to see what the other may have to offer, and so, Damian continued.
"You believe something that was once yours to be taken from you by another, but the fact is that it is not yours, and nor is it theirs, for it is its own. Because of this it cannot be taken from where it wishes to be, but rather it can only be delayed. I know not what you seek, but this is what I have gathered from what little I know, am I correct?"
Carl nodded dumbly at the precision of the other's statements, and at what they implied.
"I know what the others say about me, about the fact that I speak the words of the gods. I know not, though, if that is true. All I know is that I speak from too much experience in life, and I tell you know what life has taught me. Nothing happens for no purpose, and once it has happened, it will not be forgotten easily by any party involved. Should it be in fates plan for something to occur, then it will, no matter the delays."
Here Damian grinned yet again and Carl understood why so many people would say that it was like his words came from God.
"I know you sister, and I know also that your mind is not the only clever one in your family, and from that I judge this. Something is already in the works, I would not ask if I were you, for that may cause more harm than good, but I would not worry if I were you. Instead, remember that each odd occurrence is all part of a greater plan by a good friend and look forward to the day when things go the way of Fate. Go now, I'm sure you family waits for you."
Damian shifted slightly before placing his fingers back together and bowing his head, resuming the position he had been in when Carl first arrived. Carl knew that no matter what he said the other boy would not say anymore, even though so much of it had made no sense, but it had somehow left him with a much greater hope for what may yet be. Rubbing his eyes, Carl suddenly realized just how far the sun had sunk and how long he must have been sitting there. The sky was beginning to be painted red along the horizon. Rising from the position he had obviously been in for hours, Carl stretched carefully before making his way back towards his home.
Back at the Foutley household, Ginger carefully set the three places at dinner while her mother checked the lasagna in the oven for what must have been the four hundredth time in the past five minutes. Ginger smiled to herself at her mom's obvious concern.
"Ging, you wouldn't happen to know where Carl is, do you?"
The question wasn't so much a question as it was an accusation, and it was then that Ginger realized that her smile must have been just a bit too big.
"Maybe…" She teased.
"Well would you mind explaining it to the old worry-wart across the room?"
Lois had placed her hands on her hips in false annoyance, but couldn't help the grin beginning to play at her lips too.
"I sent him to see Damian."
Ginger's answer was curt and caused a puzzled look to cross her mother's face.
"Damian?"
"Yes, Damian. He's a boy I go to school with. He lost his parents when he was fourteen and was forced to take care of his two little brothers and his little sister until just last year when a long-lost cousin of his father was located and informed by the government of Damian's situation. The cousin came out right away to take over as head of the house. Needless to say Damian grew up rather fast in the years when he was a parent for his siblings and now he gives out better advise than anyone else I know. I figured Carl need a man to talk to, and Damian's more of a man than any full-grown man I know."
Ginger never looked at her mother while she spoke, but rather focused her attention on placing the silverware just so. Even so it wasn't hard for her to imagine the looks that must have been crossing her mother's face. The sound of the front door opening caused all chance of further conversation to be cut short as Lois turned around, muttering something like "Let's hope it helped," under her breath.
Carl entered the kitchen moments later and, to the surprise of both women already at the table, was smiling.
"Have a good talk?" Ginger questioned.
"I'm assuming so, he looks rather gay doesn't he."
The old-fashioned word for happiness had left Lois's mouth before she even realized she had said it, but before she could have a chance to apologize Carl spoke.
"Are you calling me a homosexual? Well I'm sorry to inform you, but being gay refers to two men that are also lovers and I, my lovely ladies, am a boy…"
His words hung on the air as he pulled a plate of pasta towards himself and proceeded to cover it in ketchup causing Ginger to grin, and then gag.
Courtney lay on her much too large bed when the door to her bedroom was suddenly tapped upon quite lightly.
"Yes?" She called.
"Miss Gripling, phone for you."
Winston's voice carried through the wood of the door as she stood and strode across the room to open the door for him. As the door was pulled back into the room she caught her first glimpse of Winston in almost two days. He appeared older, more worn, and it seemed as if something was on his mind that he didn't feel like discussing quite then. In his right hand was the cordless phone. Courtney took the phone without a word, but upon receiving it gave it a questioning glance, looked over her shoulder at the clock, then covered the receiver and mouthed the word "Ginger?" Winston shock his head to indicate that she was wrong and then placed one long finger alongside his nose and whispered,
"Mums the word."
Courtney's eyes suddenly lit up with realization and Courtney Gripling, the girl of never-ending pose and stature, did the happy dance in the doorway to her bedroom before hugging Winston round the morning and placing the phone to her ear.
A/N: Sorry it took soooooooooo long to get this chapter out, but I just have so much on my plate right now with college and all that it can be hard to find time for, well, anything. But, even so, I have managed to appease myself and my readers with a new chapter and make you all hate me more for ending, yet again, with another cliff-hanger…not to mention about half a million unanswered questions…I love to make you guess at what will happen next…:-)
MK