Pretend You're Someone Else (Chap. 7)

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ID: 1727540   (Rated: 18+) Pretend You're Someone Else  A man hides a secret from his family and has no clue that his son has the same secret. by KAT26/Adrian--Published!

Part One

Chapter Seven

August-1971

Avoy, Georgia

"Demon Bird, Peggy Lee, Latin and Watermelons"

         "So, do you want to come over to my house?"

         Peter looked up at Robert in amazement. No one had ever asked him over before.

         "Uh," he stammered. "I guess. Dad won't leave the office until seven. Mom, and I usually eat dinner together, but I'm sure she won't miss me this one time."

         Robert smiled and pointed in the direction of the corner phone booth.

         "Good, call her," he ordered.

         Peter walked nervously towards the booth, his hands trembling at his side. Never having been in this position, it scared him. Digging into his pockets for some change, he pulled some out and dropped it in the machine. Waiting patiently through the ringing, Peter began to worry if his mother would allow him to spend the afternoon at Robert's house. This was the first time he had ever hung-out with a classmate that didn't involve a celebration or a birthday party.

         Finally after seven rings his mother's raspy voice filled the air.

         "This is Mrs. Anderson, whom may I say is calling?

         Peter usually enjoyed his mother's beautiful, Cherokee accent, but not right now. Judging by her slurry words, she was drunk on brandy.

         "Hey mom, it's Peter. Look, a guy from school just asked me to have dinner with him, so I said..."

         Peter was abruptly cut-off.

         "I don't want you socializing with no trash," his mom's voice yelled through the receiver. "Do you not remember how far this family has come? Return home immediately."

         Feeling red with embarrassment, Peter turned around to face Robert, who was standing several feet behind him. There was something about the way his new friend smiled back, that made Peter not care what his mother had to say. With a self-satisfied grin, he returned to the call.

         "Mother, the new boy at school asked me to come home for dinner. Whatever should I say to Mr., and Mrs. Sella?"

         Peter paused to allow his words to sink in hoping the plan would work; he was right.

         "You never told me that it was Robert who invited you over?"

         He wasn't surprised that his mother already knew his new friend's name; she was good at finding out this kind of information.

         "Yes mom," Peter answered. "Robert's waiting for me and I'm guessing I can go?"

         He already knew his mother's answer.

         "Of course dear. Now, be sure to thank The Sellas for inviting you."

         "Thank-you, mother," Peter replied, as he began hanging up the phone. Suddenly, his mother's voice broke through.

         "Peter--you still there?"

         "Yes."

         "Darling, I just want to let you know how proud I am of you."

         Peter never wanted to scream at his mother so much in his life. 'She only wants me to be friends with him because his family's rich,' he thought with disgust.

         Rolling his eyes, Peter said a quick "Goodbye," and slammed the phone down. Turning around in the booth he muttered the word "Bitch," under his breath.

         Spying Robert waiting patiently on a stone bench, Peter began walking towards him. As he approached his friend, a strange sensation began brewing in his stomach. It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling, in fact it was quite the opposite. As he inched closer, the feeling grew stronger and stronger.

         "Ready?" Robert casually asked, as he flicked his cigarette on the ground.

         "How did you know she said, 'yes?'

         "I didn't."

         The boys began their slow journey up the hill to Robert's house. By now, Peter was feeling fantastic. There was something about that little rush of adrenaline that made him feel closer to his friend. He felt freaking amazing.

*****

         When they finally arrived, Peter had forgotten all about skipping school. He knew tomorrow morning he wouldn't be in trouble with his teachers, or his parents. The reason being the conversation he had with Robert on the way to his house. As they had begun their trek, his friend had started babbling about the advantages of being from a wealthy family.

         "We can get away with anything," he announced out of the blue. "Money gives you the power to control people. They look up to you! They will allow you to do anything you want. People respect and follow you."

         Turning to Robert in confusion Peter replied, "But I didn't earn my family's money, my father did it all by himself. If it wasn't for his hard work, we would still be living in some tin-shack in the mountains.

         "You see, that doesn't really matter," Robert airily called out. "If you're born into wealth you're immediately accepted. It's funny how a person's mind works. They would rather 'worship' a rich, arrogant, hypocrite-jerk, than a poor, honest person. I don't know why. I guess the average person would prefer to be friends with the man who owns the million-dollar bank account because of the celebrity status that goes with it."

         Peter pondered this fact for a minute, as the two of them walked up the circular driveway to Robert's house. His friend always seemed to know the truth. Remembering his daydream during English class, before Robert came strolling in, Peter realized that everything he just said made perfect sense. It was true, the people of Avoy treated his family like white-trash until the day his father became the richest man in town. He also noticed that these same people were the ones who attended church every Sunday. In secret, Peter called them, "Hypocritical-Christians." Sure, they loved his dad because of his status, but didn't they also scorn his grandparents back when they were the poorest family in Avoy? Collin and Stella were forced to sit in the back of the church with all the other poor families for the whole sermon, while the 'privileged" hypocrites glared at them. As if to say, "How dare you worship with us!"

         "Think of it this way, Peter," Robert suddenly called out, as if he could read his friend's mind.

         "I'll bet you one hundred dollars that we will not get into any trouble for ditching school tomorrow."

         Peter smiled as it all came sinking in. They paused on the large, wrap-around porch of the southern mansion, while Robert inserted his key into the lock.

         "There is no need to bet because I already know for a fact that this pathetic, little, town is full of bible-thumpers. Tomorrow when we return to school, no one will mention the subject of us ditching."

         Robert smiled and unlocked the front door. As they moved into the entranceway, his friend unexpectedly reached over, and touched the bottom of Peter's outfit.

         "You know, I absolutely adore this."

         Peter looked down in confusion at the leopard print, tunic he had been wearing all day.

         "Oh, thanks."

         Robert just smiled, as usual.

*****

         For the next thirty-minutes, Peter followed Robert on a tour of the mansion. The floor plan was the splitting-image of his parent's house. The only difference was the Italian-theme the Sellas had, while Peter's house resembled a typical southern mansion.

         "How long have the renovations been going on?" He asked as they stopped to look at a rather large radio-TV combination set.

         Robert frowned, "All summer long, I think. Back in April, my father purchased this house from your dad's real estate company; that is how I already knew who you were."

         For some odd reason, this delighted Peter.

         "Now, follow me upstairs," his friend announced. "My parents gave me the entire east wing. Every room up there is mine to do as I please."

         "Are you serious?" Peter replied in amazement.

         "Yep! I have three rooms of my very own." Robert stopped on the stairs, while Peter rushed to catch-up.

         "What exactly are you going to do with all those rooms?" he asked, as they started to race each other to the top.

         Robert laughed, "I don't know yet. Perhaps, I'll turn them into the world's largest closet!"

         "Sounds like a wonderful idea! Maybe I'll have someone construct me one someday?"

         Turning the corner, Peter followed his friend down the carpeted hallway to a pair of massive, double doors.

         "Is this your bedroom?" he asked in awe, once they walked inside.

         "No," Robert smirked. "This is only my sitting room. My bedroom is behind those two doors." He pointed towards the back of the room.

         Peter just shook his head and began surveying the large room. A fireplace stood in the center, surrounded by several silk, couches, and chairs. A built-in, western-style bar took up the entire left wall.

         Twirling around on the oriental rug Peter began laughing. "This is so cool!"

         "It gets better! Come see my bedroom."

         Without hesitation he followed Robert through the far doors.

         "My beautiful room, " he gestured in what looked to be a nervous way.

         Crossing into the room, Peter was once again mesmerized by what lay in front of him.

         A mammoth, king-size bed sat right in the middle of a shag-carpeted rug. Across from it stood the largest, most expensive, record player he had ever lay eyes on.

         As if in a trance, Peter began to slowly walk towards it. He could hear Robert plop down on the bed behind him.

         Running his fingers over the device, he was stunned by how big the record player was. The arm of the machine was so impressive, that Peter turned his hand and grasped it in his palm.

         "Do you like it?" Robert's calm voice seemed to float over to him.

         Replacing the object back on the hook Peter turned around to see his friend perched on the bed, an amused expression on his face.

         Shrugging his shoulders, Peter glanced down at a record sleeve lying next to the player.

         "I never knew they were so big."

         For some reason his friend burst out laughing at the remark. Glancing up, he saw Robert fall over onto the pillows in hysterics.

         Grabbing the album off the desk, Peter walked over and joined him on the bed. Robert continued to giggle uncontrollably. Ignoring it, Peter studied the album; there was one thing he loved about his new friend--the kid laughed a lot.

         Looking down at the cover he saw a photograph of a beautiful blonde-haired, blue-eyed, lady. Tracing her picture with his fingertips, Peter whispered the words that were printed across the cardboard: Peggy Lee.

         Robert rolled over, and settled close to him. His little laughing fit had vanished as quickly as it started.

         "I love the song, You'll Remember Me. Have you heard of it?"

         Peter shook his head; he was still focused on the album. Something had taken over, he couldn't stop staring at the singer.

         "Anyway," Robert continued. "I was listening to it this morning before school."

         As Peter turned the record over to glance at the backside, he could feel his friend move closer on the bed. The inches of plaid blanket that separated them were disappearing, and before he knew it, Robert was completely pressed against him. Peter felt his friend's warm breath on his neck, as they studied the album together. Millions of emotions raced through his body, they scared and delighted him all at the same time.

         "It's a beautiful song," Robert whispered. "I think Peggy is singing about her long time lover who has left her for someone else. She says that he will remember her forever, even when she's long gone. Her presence is embedded deep inside of him and he will regret leaving her someday."

         Robert trailed off. The room was dead silent. Peter could feel that unexplained sensation rising deep inside of him, like an alien invading his body. He remembered the way his friend almost died laughing at the mention of the massive arm of the record player. Peter now knew Robert took it to mean something else, but what? A mysterious force brewed between them, he could feel it in the air and it was quite confusing. Robert still sat beside him; his hands were folded across his lap, as he seemed to lean forward, like he was hiding something. Peter took one last glance at the album and unexpectedly jumped to his feet, causing Robert to shift backwards.

         Returning to the record player, Peter removed the disk from the sleeve and gently laid it on the turntable, then he placed the needle carefully on the vinyl. A few seconds passed before Peggy's exotic singing filled the room.

         Focusing his eyes on Robert, Peter could see his friend staring back in stunned silence.

         "I thought we could listen to the song."

         His friend replied by muttering something unintelligible.

*****

         An hour later, Peter waved goodbye to Robert and with a, "See you tomorrow in school," he headed home. The door quietly closed behind him. For some reason, Peter didn't find it odd that his friend just walked him to the front door, but as he was about to step outside onto the redbrick pathway, Robert stopped him, so he could run back upstairs. A short time later, he returned carrying the Peggy Lee album.

         "I want you to have this."

         Peter took the record and tucked it under his arm.

         "Thank-you," he whispered at a sudden loss for words.

         Robert must have experienced the same reaction, because he suddenly found the rug by his feet very interesting.

         "Well, I'll see you at school," he whispered, still staring downward.

         Peter smiled and repeated what his friend said, causing Robert's face to light up.

         For some reason, Peter felt the urge to move very slowly as he started his journey home. Occasionally, he would glance behind him to look at his friend's house. Once he turned the corner and the mansion disappeared from view, he crossed onto the Main Street, removed the album, and continued to stare at the beautiful picture. Gazing at her face, Peter seemed to fall in a trance. Suddenly, an image passed through his brain. He saw two boys dancing. The pair resembled himself and Robert, but somehow they were different. Chilled at this strange hallucination, Peter quickened his pace and swiftly ran home.

*****

         The following day Peter awoke with butterflies in his stomach. He couldn't figure out if it was from ditching class with Robert, or the bizarre dream he just had. Somehow yesterday's incident caused him to dream of a beautiful, dove entering his room through an open window. The creature flew immediately into an electric outlet, and within seconds zipped out all multi-colored. It then proceeded to circle the room counting in Latin. As it passed by Peter's head, it would cry, "unus, duo,..."

         After reaching twenty the dove perched upon the footboard, looked him straight in the eye and sang in a heavenly voice,"Cuiusvis hominis est errare; nullius nisi insipientis in errore perseverare."

         Nodding his head as if to say, "We will meet again," the bird flew back into the electric outlet and Peter opened his eyes in shock at what had happened to his body.

         Gathering his sheets before the maid could get to them, Peter raced into the laundry room and jammed them into the washing machine using the hottest water available.

         The sharp pain in his stomach was becoming unbearable, as he stepped into the shower. Moving onto shampooing his thick auburn hair Peter tried to ignore the pain and worked on translating the strange warning. He knew Latin from his father, who took a course in college. Fifteen minutes later, he had it figured out; the bird had quite bluntly said that any man makes a mistake, but a foolish man repeats himself. Didn't Cicero say that? Peter must be losing his mind. A bird flew into his dream quoting Latin speeches.

         Believing this to be a warning about skipping school, Peter slowly finished his shower, toweled-off, randomly pulled on some clothes and made his way downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast. Ever the smart businessman, his father had left for work at dawn, and his mother wouldn't wake from her hangover until noon. Peter was use to being alone, but today was different because Robert would be there.

         After eating, he left the dishes on the table and ran to toss his sheets into the dryer. So far, so good. Since this started over a year ago, Peter dreaded going to sleep. The confusing part was, he didn't fully understand these reactions. Usually, it involved some kind of voice swirling through his dreams, that seemed to cause excitement. Last night it had to be that damn dove, the way it spoke in that soft, angelic, voice.

         Shaking his head, Peter grabbed his backpack from the front hallway and raced out the door, where he found Robert waiting by the gate.

         "Hey! I thought I would surprise you,"

         Peter semi-heard. He stopped dead in his tracks and gasped at his friend's colorful shirt. It matched the exact same pattern the dove transformed into when it burst forth from the electric socket.

*****

         Several hours later, the boys once again found themselves eating lunch outside under the pine trees.

         Peter slowly chewed his sandwich, while focusing on Robert. He watched his friend drink down a cup of black coffee, and smoke a cigarette like last time. Not a single bite of food went into his mouth.

         Robert was casually leaning against a tree, while describing a new clothing store in Atlanta that sold leopard-print, bell bottoms, pink tunics and massive platform shoes. Peter was observing his friend and not paying the slightest bit of attention to anything he was saying. Slowly he let his gaze travel over Robert's face. The curly black hair, the deep brown eyes, with the long eyelashes any girl would kill to have.

         Today his friend came to school wearing the multi-colored shirt and a pair of leather pants. From the moment they walked into their classroom, Robert was showered with compliments from the teachers and students. Peter wondered if the praise only came from the fact that he was rich. He doubted they would say anything if he wasn't, in fact they would probably laugh him out of school. Thinking of how shallow this town really was annoyed Peter. He hated the fact that money played such a big role. He was eventually thrown from his daydream by Robert slightly kicking his foot.

         "Want to skip again?"

         "Will we get in trouble?"

         "No. Trust me!"

         Peter rolled his eyes and stretched his arms behind his back.

         "Where do you want to go?"

         Robert smiled a very devilish grin. "I noticed a farmer's market on our way to school."

         Peter finished his soda and tossed the can in a nearby trashcan.

         "Yeah, it belongs to Mr. Harris. He sells produce after school with his kids."

         Robert frowned and slowly asked, "He only sells stuff after school?"

         "No, he starts around ten in the morning and stops around one o'clock. From one to three he takes a break. His twin boys, Jimmy and Timmy help him when school lets out at three. Both of them are Freshmen in high school. Timmy has down syndrome and Mr. Harris had to fight to allow him to attend public school. As you know, children like him can't attend public school.

         "You mean retarded children?" Robert interrupted.

         Peter blushed. "Yeah, but I hate that word. Timmy is actually very smart, also he helps with the family business."

         Robert rolled his eyes, and stood up. "Come on, we're going to have some fun."

         "Doing what?" Peter cautiously asked as he threw away the rest of his lunch.

         When his friend smiled that little, Cheshire grin, Peter knew it was going to be something big.

         "Nothing harmless, I swear."

         Robert then quickly took off in the direction of the stand. It took a minute for Peter to follow. Once his friend shot him that smirk, he envisioned himself leaning forward and kissing him directly on the mouth. There was something about Robert's attitude that Peter was attracted to. It scared and thrilled him. He didn't know how to respond.

*****

         Walking down the dry, dirt road, Peter pushed up the sleeves of his wool sweater and wondered why he bothered to wear something so heavy on a hot day? The scorching sun was literally killing him. Robert seemed to be as cool as a cucumber, there wasn't a single drop of sweat on his face. Nearing the produce stand, Peter felt the tightness in his stomach returning as his friend casually skipped over to inspect the stand.

         "Be back at three," Robert read aloud the hand painted wooden sign.

         Peter knew that Mr. Harris' regular customers had already come and gone. His afternoon buyers were children and late-night workers. As soon as the stand closed at one, the road that curved around it grew dead silent. A bird called out from the trees and Peter felt a chill remembering his dream.

         Watching Robert, who was cautiously wandering around the stand, Peter frowned and wondered what his friend was up to. The air felt tight, like someone was watching them. Looking around at the trees, Peter immediately became frightened. A group of crows sat in a perfect row on top a high branch, like executioners. Crazy people dressed in black. They seemed to be judging his every move.

         "Robert, we should..."

         "Do you think the old man is home?" His friend interrupted him. Peter didn't like the unusually calm expression on Robert's face. Something dangerous was about to happen, he just knew it.

         Shrugging, Peter calmly asked, "What are you planning to do?" Robert grinned back and said in a perfect redneck accent, "My first prank since moving to this sleepy little town."

         To his complete horror, Peter watched his friend pull back the green tarp that covered several small watermelons.

         "What an idiot, leaving food out for anyone to wander by and steal."

         "Nobody steals in Avoy," Peter replied, then muttered under his breath, "Except my father's company." Realization suddenly sunk in. "Are you going to steal them?"

         Robert snorted, "What the fuck am I going to do with twenty watermelons?"

         Grabbing the first one, he held it up high and flung it down on the ground, where it exploded into a big mess off red and green slime. Robert was stronger than he looked.

         Peter gasped, "Robert! What are you doing?"

         "Having fun," he shot back as he picked another one up and smashed it against the stand. Twirling around he yelled back, "Peter, help me! It's fun!"

         "You want me to help you destroy this man's watermelon patch? Why?"

         Robert rolled his eyes. "My God! You're so lame! Besides, he has other stuff to sell. It's no big deal. Everyone pulls a prank in their lifetime. I'm sure the old man did the same thing when he was our age, so now it's our turn." He tossed a watermelon to Peter. "It's fun...dear!"

         Peter caught the basketball sized melon with both hands and began rolling it around, feeling the hard rind. There was something in Robert's voice when he called him, "Dear," that sent waves of excitement through his body. Grasping the melon with all his might, Peter raised it over his head and flung it across the pathway. The two of them watched it sail gracefully through the air, and land with a splatter. He felt sick knowing that he just lost Mr. Harris two dollars.

         Robert had a completely different reaction. He squealed and flung his arms around Peter. "You did it!"

         Standing there in open-mouthed shock he quickly pushed aside all doubt as Robert began hugging him. He liked that his friend was jumping up and down on him.

         "Did you feel that rush of pleasure?" Robert asked. Peter nodded, referring to his friend and not the vandalism. He didn't need to know that, though.

         "Well, that was why I brought you here. I wanted you to experience it."

         Robert removed his arm from around Peter's shoulders. They stood there for a moment surveying the damage. It was Peter who finally broke the silence.

         "I feel bad for Timmy."

         Robert turned to him with a look of pure disgust. "Why? The retard won't even know what happened. His family could talk to that idiot for hours and I bet he wouldn't understand a word they said."

         Peter pondered this for a minute. It bothered him that Robert kept calling Timmy a "retard," and an "idiot," especially when he never met the kid. There was one thing that his friend said that made sense, Timmy would never get to experience a normal life like all the other kids. Pulling silly pranks was a part of a "normal childhood."

         "I guess you're right."

         Peter looked over and saw that Robert was smiling.

         "Besides," he continued. "It was just a prank. A joke..."

         As he followed his friend back to school, Peter couldn't help but remember the warning in his dream. He could have sworn he felt the stares of the crows on his back, as they walked briskly down the road.

*Next Chapter*

ID: 1736468   (Rated: 18+) Pretend You're Someone Else (Chap 8) 1/5  (This chapter is divided into 5 segments.) "I'm off to divorce the witch!" (1992) by KAT26/Adrian--Published!