Reaching Out

Chapter 1: Reaching Out

By Grant Bentley

I was cursing myself for being stupid enough to walk the six blocks to the club in the middle of winter. I know you’re thinking six blocks isn’t very far, and it’s not, unless you’re walking into a wind with a minus 30°C wind chill factor. Never mind the snow blowing into my face as well and making it hard to see ten feet ahead.

We were experiencing a Chinook when I left home at 9:00 and it had been positive 10°C, but sometime between then and now, “now” being 2:00AM, a full-scale blizzard had blown in. ‘Damn,’ I thought, ‘maybe I should start paying closer attention to the weather forecast.’ It didn’t matter much at that point, though. I was out there, and freezing my ass off; considering the fact that I have a tiny little ass, it wasn’t going to take long.

Of course, home was north of the club, so I had to walk directly into the wind. As I got closer to home, I decided to walk along the fence of the parking lot across the street from my building. I figured that any protection from the wind was better than no protection. Besides, I liked my ass and wanted to preserve it–but not by freezing it.

As I neared the corner of the fence, I noticed something fairly large slowly being buried by the snow that drifted over the fence. When I got closer, it moved, making me look more closely. ‘Oh my God,’ I thought. It was a person; someone was huddled in the corner of the fence.

Although it’s not often I have three coherent thoughts in a row, I did then. My first thought was, ‘Who would be stupid enough to be out on a night like this?’ Besides me, that is, but I had a good reason. My second thought was, ‘If the person stays there very long they’re going to freeze to death.’ My third thought was, ‘If I can help, but I don’t, and the person dies, then I’ve as good as killed them.’

Considering how cold I was, I didn’t spend a lot of time contemplating what to do. Hoping with all my heart that it wasn’t some deranged street person who was going to kill me, I walked over and touched their shoulder. The person immediately pulled away and tried to get even deeper into the corner. Whoever it was was not only freezing, but also appeared to be very scared. It was as if the person was more afraid of being hurt by me than they were of freezing to death. I squatted down, touched the person’s shoulder again and shook it gently. This time, the person slowly turned to face me.

It was no street bum. This was a teen, no older than sixteen or seventeen. He didn’t move, but he stared at me with a look of sheer terror in his eyes. It broke my heart to look at him. He should have been at home, sleeping in a nice, warm bed. Instead, he was out here, terrified and freezing to death. What the hell had happened to force him out on a night like this?

I had to shout to be heard over the wind. “What are you doing here?” I yelled. It was a stupid question, I know, but I had to say something. He, however, said nothing, and just continued staring.

“Look, you can’t stay here. You’re going to freeze to death,” I yelled. He still didn’t respond, and tried to get even farther into the corner.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help,” I yelled. Still, he said nothing. Finally, I gripped his arm and pulled to try to get him to stand up and come with me, but he just jerked his arm away. By now he wasn’t the only one freezing to death in the corner. I decided ‘screw this,’ if he wouldn’t come with me then I was phoning the police to come and get him.

“I can’t leave you here,” I yelled again. “I want to help you.” I took out my cell phone and yelled, “I’m not going to leave you here to die. You can come with me or I’ll call the police and let them know where you are. I swear, I just want to help. I won’t hurt you…. Please!” I pleaded with him. He stared for a few more seconds and tears began to run down his cheeks.

Finally, he tried to stand up. He got part way up and fell back into the corner. He was so cold, he couldn’t even get up. I gripped his arm again and helped him up, then wrapped my arm around his waist and tried to help him walk, but he couldn’t. I knew he couldn’t stay out here much longer or he would die from hypothermia, so I put my other arm behind his knees and scooped him up into my arms. He didn’t even have the strength to wrap his arms around my neck to hold on. I struggled along the fence to the gate and across the street to the condo. I set him down gently, unlocked the door, then scooped him up again and carried him to the elevators. I hit the call button with my elbow and waited for the elevator. When the doors opened, I carried him into the elevator and hit the button for my floor. Once we were there, I carried him to my door, unlocked it, then carried him into the living room and sat him down on the sofa. I quickly took off my shoes, coat and gloves and threw them on a chair.

He was just sitting there, staring across the room. He had been shivering as I carried him, but it seemed to be getting worse, and soon he began shivering violently. This scared the hell out of me and I told him I was phoning for an ambulance. The look of fear came back into his eyes and he cried out, “No!”

“I’ve got to get you help. You’re suffering from hypothermia and you’re going to go into shock or something,” I said.

“No,” he said again, although a lot more quietly.

I guess my heart took over or my brain shut down, I don’t know which, but I decided I would not call an ambulance; instead, I would try to warm him up myself and hope I wasn’t making a big mistake. I had never dealt with someone suffering from hypothermia before and wasn’t sure what to do. I knew I couldn’t let him warm up too quickly, but I had to warm him up faster than just leaving him there on the sofa in his wet clothes.

I remembered the movie Latter Days. A forest ranger had stripped both himself and a boy, Christian, naked, got them into a sleeping bag and wrapped himself tightly around Christian to transfer body heat. It took me about two seconds to throw that option out. The poor kid wasn’t only freezing; he was scared of something or someone. If I tried something like that, it would be sure to freak him out and he would not only be dealing with hypothermia but also a panic attack to go with it. I wasn’t sure if it was a better idea, but I decided to put him into a warm bath instead. I figured I would explain to him exactly what I was going to do first, but if he freaked on me when I tried to undress him, I would put him in the tub with his clothes on.

“Look,” I said, “I won’t call an ambulance unless there’s no other choice, but we have to get you warmed up, right now! I’m going to run you a warm bath and get you into the tub.”

I went into the bathroom and started the tub filling up. When I came back into the living room, he still hadn’t moved and his shivering was getting worse. I went to him and knelt down in front of him. I explained to him that I would have to undress him to put him in the tub. He looked at me, but said nothing. At least the look of terror had left his eyes. It was more just a blank stare now.

Carefully, I removed his shoes and socks. His socks seemed almost frozen to his feet. I then took off his coat, which wasn’t even a winter coat, just a light fall or spring coat. I then undid his jeans and managed to lift him enough to get them off. Finally, I took off his shirt. I left his underwear on. They didn’t need to come off and I didn’t want to freak him out, although he seemed so out of it, I don’t think he cared about anything right then.

I ran to the bathroom and made sure the water wasn’t too warm. If it was, it would warm him too quickly and cause him a lot of pain. I carried him to the bathroom and gently lowered him into the tub. I leaned him back so only his head was out of the water and sat on the side of the tub. I didn’t want him sliding down and drowning, and I wanted to monitor him in case I had to phone for an ambulance.

Gradually, he began to shiver less and less. After about fifteen minutes, he had stopped shivering. I drained the tub and ran it full of warmer water. He just sat there, still staring straight ahead. I carefully looked at his hands, feet and ears to see if he had frostbite, but there were no telltale signs.

After about another 15 minutes, he began to shift a bit in the tub. He still hadn’t spoken, other than yelling “No!” earlier, so I decided to try and get him to talk.

“How are you feeling?” I asked. He turned to look at me. The fear was gone from his eyes. Now, they just looked sad. He still didn’t respond, but just closed his eyes. He looked like he was about to fall asleep. I figured that I should try to keep him awake as long as I could. I didn’t know if a person could go into shock from hypothermia or not, so I didn’t know if letting him fall asleep was a safe thing to do, but obviously the tub wasn’t safe to sleep in. If nothing else, I had to get him out of the tub and into the bed in the spare room.

I spoke to him again. I asked him if he was warm enough and if he wanted to get out of the tub. He opened his eyes, looked at me and finally spoke. “Yes, please,” he said.

It was such a relief to hear him speak. At least he seemed to know what was going on. I helped him to stand up and, thank goodness, he seemed to have regained enough of his strength to stand on his own. I helped him out of the tub and handed him a warm bath towel. He leaned against the vanity and slowly began to dry himself. I breathed a big sigh of relief; it seemed like he would be okay.

I relaxed a bit and finally took the time to really look at him. He definitely seemed to be about sixteen or seventeen, as I had guessed earlier. He was my height, about 6 feet, very slim, but not skinny. He had almost-platinum blond hair and the most unusual blue-green eyes I had ever seen. He was, in a word, gorgeous. I had obviously been born 20 years too soon. I stopped my analysis of him before I freaked him out and went to my room to get him a pair of boxer briefs and a bathrobe. I set them on the vanity beside him and asked him if he was hungry. “Yes, please,” he replied.

I told him I would fix the two of us something to eat and he could come out to the kitchen when he was ready. I then went to make some soup, sandwiches and coffee. In about fifteen minutes, he walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table. I put a bowl of soup and a plate of sandwiches in front of him. I asked him if he wanted a coffee and, as he already had his mouth full, he just nodded. I poured us each a coffee and sat down across the table from him. I didn’t try to talk to him as he looked like he hadn’t eaten for a while. He was alternating between taking a mouthful of soup and a bite of a sandwich, so he probably wouldn’t have been able to respond to me anyway.

After he had finished eating, he sat back in the chair and looked at me. His eyes didn’t look so sad and empty anymore. There was almost a little sparkle in them, and he smiled. “Thanks,” he said.

I smiled back and said, “It looks like you’re going to be okay. You had me scared half to death there for a while.”

“Sorry,” he replied.

“Don’t be sorry,” I said. “I was just so scared you were going to die. I don’t think I could have handled that.”

We looked at each other for a minute or two and finally I asked, “Want to talk about why you were out there freezing to death?”

Immediately, the fear came back into his eyes and they filled with tears. I got up and squatted down in front of him. I took both his hands in mine and tried to reassure him that he had nothing to fear. I explained that whatever it was, he could tell me and I would listen. I promised him that there was no way I would let him go out into the blizzard again; he was safe with me and he was staying, at least for the duration of the blizzard.

The tears turned into sobs, so I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him into a hug. He tentatively hugged me back. We stayed like that for a few minutes until he seemed to have cried himself out, and he sat back in the chair.

I took his hands in mine and led him over to the sofa. As we sat down, I put my arm around him and said, “I swear you are safe here. Nothing you tell me will change that…. So, do you want to tell me why you were out there?”

He let out a deep sigh and replied, “My stepfather kicked my out of the house and told me that, if I came back, he would make me wish I was dead.”

“What the hell?” I almost shouted. “Why would he do that?”

“Cause he hates me. He always has,” he replied.

“Why did he wait until tonight to kick you out?” I asked.

He started to cry again. I wrapped both arms around him and this time he hugged me back a little less tentatively. When he had settled down and relaxed his hug, I asked him again what the excuse his stepfather needed was.

He responded, “I can’t tell you. If I do, you’ll hate me too. Please don’t make me.”

“There is nothing you can tell me that will make me hate you, unless you’ve committed some heinous crime–and I seriously doubt that.”

He stared directly into my eyes, as if he were trying to see into my soul. I hoped he could see that I genuinely cared. Maybe he did and felt safe enough to ask me to wait, but he was still too scared to actually tell me. Whatever it was, it was enough to cause his stepfather to kick him out of the house in the middle of winter, so why would he expect me to react any differently?

“I really can’t tell you, not yet. I’m sorry. If you want me to leave, I will,” he eventually responded.

I smiled and told him, “If you really feel you can’t tell me right now, that’s okay. I can wait. There’s no way I’m letting you go back out into that blizzard, no matter why he kicked you out.”

I’m not exactly sure why, but I had a feeling that it had something to do with being gay. You know how sometimes you can just sense something? Maybe it was because I’m gay and my gaydar was at work; maybe it was because I knew that he was a genuinely good kid and I couldn’t think of another reason he would get kicked out; I don’t know. All I knew for sure was that I wanted to help him, and that was all there was to it.

We sat quietly for a minute or two. Then, I leaned across and whispered in his ear that I had another question for him. He pulled back and looked at me apprehensively. I think he was afraid I was going to come on to him or something.

I just smiled and said, “Since you’re sitting in my living room, wearing my underwear and bathrobe, and you were hugging me, I think I should at least know your name.”

I got another little laugh, although this one was more like a giggle. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s Jason Clark.”

“Hi,” I replied, “I’m Chris McCormick.”

“Hi,” he responded before he gave a huge yawn.

It was then that I realized it was probably close to 5:00 in the morning and we had both been up all night. I asked him if he was ready to get some sleep, and told him we could talk about everything later.

I showed him to the spare bedroom, told him to make himself at home and headed for my room. It wasn’t until I crawled under the covers and laid my head on the pillow that I realized how exhausted I was. It had been a pretty hectic night and I was asleep in a matter of minutes.

Chapter 2