Westpoint Tales - JH Williamson & Billy T. Carver, 5

Next morning, regretfully for some, it was time to go back to school. Billy wasn’t sorry, he was delighted to be going to his new school. He was delighted, but he was nervous as well. Billy could be a bit shy.

Still, the place would be full with his multitude of cousins, and, who knew, maybe he’d meet someone there. Someone special. Maybe there’d be some other useless, crippled kid who was lonely like him. They could rub their wheelchairs together. Maybe.

Usually, he would be going to school on his own. The chair was motorized and more than capable of the short trip up Derby Street. But today he was going with Kathleen. It was her privilege and her joy to enroll yet another grandson in the Highschool.

JH’s father wasn’t taking him to the school. He did offer but JH didn’t want him to. He was perfectly able to go and enroll himself. It was only a transfer from the previous school anyway. He was capable of looking after himself; he’d been doing it for years.

Anyway, he knew it was a small town and everything, but he was still not comfortable about being seen in public with his gay father. What if he hugged him or something? Something like that could do serious damage to his reputation.

He didn’t want people thinking that he was one of ‘them’. He didn’t tell Jon that though; he did like him even though he was a queer. Maybe he’d even get to like that Bobby? No, probably not. Bloody queers.

Billy was proudly escorted into the school and he was greeted by the Principal, Mr. Peters. That was a surprise. John Peters was an old, old friend of his granddads and he’d met him before, he just didn’t realise that he was the principal as well.

A gay guy as the Highschool Principal? Well, why not anyway?

JH rode to school, alone, on the bus. He was not about to admit it to anyone, but he was actually quite nervous. He was shy as well, but he tried not to let it show.

Anyway, he was pleased to see that his ‘cousin’, Claire Davison, was waiting there for him. She greeted him, took him in to show him where the offices were, and then left him there, alone.

He had to sit outside, waiting in the reception area. The school secretary, Mr. Tainui, was busy enrolling some other kid, so he’d have to wait for his turn. A young, fit-looking, blond guy came out of the secretary’s office and hurried out to the corridor.

Well, he looked young. You could never be sure these days, especially in Westpoint.

After a couple of minutes, he came back and he sat down next to JH.

“Hi. How’re you doing?”

“I’m good, thanks. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine. It’s always exciting when a new school term gets under way. You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m new. First day today. I’m waiting to see this Tainui guy.”

“Okay. The Tainui guy will be with you in a few. I’m John Peters, by the way. I’m not new here; I’ve been here for years. I’m the Principal actually.” He offered his hand with a smile.

JH took it wonderingly. “You’re the Principal? Really? Umm, JH Williamson.”

“JH? Don’t tell me, let me guess. James Hargreaves, right?”

“That’s right! How did you know that?”

“We’ve met before, James. I was one of the lawyers for your dad in the custody case when you were a baby.”

“You were? And now you’re a teacher? That’s still pretty good guessing.”

“Not really. I’ve been talking to your father, he’s an old friend of ours. Yes, I changed to teaching. Law pays better, but I find teaching much more satisfying. Or, I did – I don’t get to do much teaching these days.

Anyway, welcome to Westpoint High, JH Williamson.”

“Thanks, Mr. Peters. It’s good to be here. I think.”

Billy T. Carver

When the enrolment was completed at last, Mr. Tainui gave me a disc with maps, school rules and stuff. (I’ll be sure to read them, someday). Then, finally, I was free to go and start my new life in my new school.

Grandmother Kathleen still couldn’t stop worrying and fussing around me. She told me that I should go and attach myself to one of my cousins and ‘hold on tight’. If any of the cousins gave me grief, she’d murder them. She also said that if I had trouble from anyone else, I should get their names and tell my granddads. Justin would sort them out.

There was no way that I was going to do that. I’m not a snitch and we’re not having my granddad beating on schoolkids. Grandmother worried too much. Who was going to beat on a cripple in a wheelchair?

Anyway, according to the cousins, bullying is not a problem around here. Other schools maybe, but not at Westpoint High.

We all left the office together. Mr. Tainui was going to take me to my first class, but then Mr. Peters stopped us. He got up from where he was talking to a kid in the reception area.

“Ah, good. Mrs. Reynolds, Harry, before you go, can I have a quick word with both of you? Won’t take a minute, Boys.”

The three of them went back into the office and the kid and I were left there, looking at each other. I liked what I saw.

He was a kid, a teenager, somewhere around my age, (I’m 14), but he was nothing like me. This guy was . . .Well, he was gorgeous! That was the only word I could think to describe him. Gorgeous. I’d never seen a nicer looking person in my life; and there were some real hotties around here.

Maybe he wasn’t your classic media-star hunk, but there was something about him. Something that I really, really liked. Gorgeous!

He looked at me, looked me up and down, from my wheels to my long and wild, carroty-red hair. Then he turned away and looked out of the window again. Oh well, there’s no way that someone like him would ever want to be friends with a wreck like me. Not even in my dreams. I wished that I was someone else – anyone else – anyone but a useless, crippled gayboy in a wheelchair.

Still, I couldn’t stop looking at him. Did I mention that he was gorgeous?

My hair was long, almost shoulder length. Not everyone likes it that way, but I do and I can wear it any way I please. Doctor Clive used to say that my ‘big’ hair was my way of compensating and trying to draw attention away from my legs and showing that there was more to me than that.

I don’t know. Maybe he’s right, but I just like it like that. I like the way it looks, I like the way it feels. Long hair feels like me, somehow.

My hair is also a bright red-orange colour. Not everyone likes red hair either, but – hey, I’m a Carver and I’m proud of that. I haven’t got much else to be proud of. Even if I could walk, I’d still be a puny, skinny, under-developed kid. I’d still be nothing special, nothing good enough for someone like him. Dammit!

His hair was not long, it was cut short – really short, and it was a stunning white in colour. This boy’s hair was actually, totally, white, and stunning. At first glance, (whenever that was), it looked like some sort of close fitting white-velvet cap on his head. I wouldn’t have liked to wear my hair that short, but on him it looked good.

Everything about him looked good. Well, everything except for one little thing. If only he’d smile, he’d light up the skies. His green eyes looked sad to me. I wished that I could make it better for him.

He glanced back at me a couple of times. Probably wondering who the weirdo was. But I couldn’t help it. I might never get another chance to sit this close to him.

James Hargreaves Williamson II

Funny how your life can change in an instant. You can be going along, quietly minding your own business and following the plans you’ve made for the day, when, wham! Something happens and your life is never the same again.

I was sitting outside the secretary’s office, waiting to enroll in Westpoint High; the principal, Mr. Peters, was sitting chatting to me. He was an okay guy, but I thought that he might be a queer – sometimes you can just tell.

He was hitting on me or anything. He was just being nice, being friendly and welcoming me to his school. He’s a friend of my Dad’s, apparently. (That’d be a bit of a giveaway right there.)

Anywho. We were sitting there when the office door opened and this really old lady came out. She was far too old to be working there and too old to be someone’s mum. A granny perhaps? Then I realised who she was – old Mrs. Reynolds. I’d seen her around town a couple of times. Dad said that she’s nearly 100 or something. She’s doing well for her age.

So – the Dragon Lady was down from her nest on top of the Adelphi tower. She must have had one of her hatchlings in there.

She was followed out by a big maori guy, Mr. Tainui, the school secretary. They both moved aside and a wheelchair came rolling out of the office. There was a kid in it – a skinny little kid with a huge mop of fiery red hair.

They were enrolling him in the Highschool? He looked far too young to be thrown in there with all the big kids. He must’ve been a new entrant. Advanced for his age maybe?

Poor little bugger. Fancy being stuck in a wheelchair at his age. I wondered what it was that was wrong with him? Nothing contagious, I hoped. No, of course it wasn’t.

‘Shut the fuck up, JH. Sheesh! Sometimes I piss off even me.’

That hair was amazing. He wouldn’t be a bad-looking kid if it wasn’t for the wheelchair. He could be a model for Billy’s Burgers. He looked like their cartoon logo.

‘Shut up again, JH. Since when do I look at boys? Where are the ladies?’

I dragged my eyes away and looked over at the kids outside the big windows. Mr. Peters said something and the three olds went back into the office, closing the door behind them. The kid and I were left alone there in the reception area.

Was he looking at me? I glanced back and he was. He was sitting quietly staring at me. What for? Was there something on my face? Was he a queer? Who was he anyway?

I risked another glance, he was still staring at me, so I looked back out of the window. I could see the busy scene outside, but I could also still see the kid. I could see his reflection in the glass. Cool!

The early-morning sunshine streaming through the windows was landing directly on him, lighting him up like . . like an angel! A skinny little, beautiful little, angel.

(‘Beautiful?? An angel? In a wheelchair? With red hair??’)

The sunlight made his dark red hair look like it was on fire.

I’d never felt like this. I’d never been attracted to a boy before. Was I turning queer? What was he looking at me for? What was I looking at him for?

He did look good – really, really good, and nice. There was something about him. I turned around again and looked directly at him – and he smiled!

He smiled at me. A big, a huge, glorious sunny smile lit up his face and I felt . . I felt . . .I felt great! I felt warm. I felt washed in the sunshine of a beautiful boy’s smile. I had to smile back at him and my life changed – Forever!