Parallel

Author's note: Inspired by a science documentary I was watching earlier today, and the 'what-if' it brought to mind.


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I walked out of my front door, my travelling and laptop bags in hand, on the way to the bus stop, in turn to the railway station, in turn back to my exile, otherwise known as work, more than 200 miles from home. It certainly wasn't a lifestyle I would have chosen, spending two-thirds of my time away, but circumstances, largely financial, had forced my hand. I was hoping that it would only be a short-term expedient, but the short-term was already heading towards medium-term, and the bad news which seemed to present itself every time I checked our bank balance seemed to suggest that medium-term would have to become long-term.

On top of these less than congenial domestic circumstances, I had another, deeper, hidden problem, too - I was a closeted boylover, attracted to those around puberty, 13 or 14 being my favourite age, that delightful phase of a boy's life when they were more than a child, but not yet a man, the most beautiful phase of any permutation of age and gender that humanity had to offer, in my opinion. My attractions came at a high price, though, personally - I was racked with agonies of guilt and shame, both at my attraction in itself, reinforced by society's utter hatred of those who 'lusted after children', and also by the fact that I felt that I was spending my whole life living a lie, deceiving my wife of almost 20 years into thinking I was a 'normal' man, with 'normal' proclivities, when, in reality, I was reduced, inside, to a whimpering mess by the lovely boys I saw, day after day, as I went about my life. They were all so close, yet so inaccessible, as though behind a glass wall, and none more so than Oliver. I only knew his name, even though he lived, as the crow flies, less than 20 feet away from me, in the house whose garden backed onto ours, because I'd heard his mother and stepfather calling to him from time to time, on sunny summer days when he was in that garden. He was, to my eyes, virtually perfect, in the same school year as my daughter, albeit at a different school, 13 years old, or thereabouts, blond hair whose fringe flopped lazily over his forehead when he moved, glittering blue eyes forming the focal point of a lovely, symmetrical face, flawless, creamy skin, a slender, but in no way skinny, body, long, coltish legs, graceful, flowing movements that were entrancing in themselves. Everything, in short, I could ever have dreamed of in a boy, right on my doorstep, but as far from being part of my life as he would have been had he lived on the Moon. All I could do was to gaze. longingly, whenever the trajectories of our lives brought him into view, with the deadly knowledge, all the while, that he would never, could never be mine. I could have cried, on occasion, from sheer frustration.

The short walk to the nearest bus stop took me around to the left, and past Oliver's house. As I walked up the little hill which meant that their house overlooked ours, there seemed to be a strange kind of discontinuity, just for a second, a sudden drop in light intensity, as though a cloud had crossed in front of the sun. I looked up, and there was, indeed, a cloudy sky - odd, because, lost in thoughts of my return to work as I'd been, I could have sworn that the sun was shining when I came out of my house, less than two minutes earlier. Still, this was Cornwall, and we'd lived here long enough to know very well of the vagaries of the local weather, subject to dramatic swings in very short intervals of time or space. I walked up to the pair of semi-detached houses that backed onto ours, the first where a friend of my daughter's lived, then Oliver's. As usual, I glanced to my left, hoping for a glimpse of the gorgeous boy, when a movement beyond the open garage door caught my eye. There he was! Wrestling to extract his bike from behind some clutter, his back to me. I'd taken no more than another two more steps, and he'd freed the bike's trapped front wheel, and turned towards the street. He looked at me, and, most unexpectedly, grinned broadly.

"Hi, Sammy!"

Suddenly, I was thoroughly confused, and more than a little nervous. He hadn't used my real name, but the name I used as my pseudonym when I wrote my blog. How could he possibly know? No-one, so far as I was aware, knew that 'Sammy' was me, and that suited me just fine, because my blog was the one place where I felt I could express myself freely as far as my 'hidden' side was concerned - I'd often written about my attraction to boys, and how it impacted on my life, and, on several occasions, I'd written, albeit not by name, about Oliver, and how drawn to him I was.

"Oh....hi....Oliver."

His smile faded.

"Have I upset you, or something? You always call me Ollie."

"No....no, sorry....Ollie, I was miles away, thinking about going away, and how I'd rather be staying here."

"Going away, again? Why? I thought you were back for good now you'd got that new job."

I felt completely rudderless, as though I'd walked into a hall of distorting mirrors. Everything, physically, seemed the same, the houses, the cars parked in the drives, the delicious boy looking at me, looking as confused as I felt. The 'new job' remark, in particular, brought me up short. I'd applied for a job within my company, based locally, only a few months earlier, and, as far as I could tell, I had been the obvious candidate, with my background, but it had gone to someone twenty years younger and with correspondingly less experience, who, it later transpired, was related by marriage to a senior regional manager. Sheer coincidence - or not, as the case may have been. Either way, I'd been devastated, having missed out on the only chance, possibly for years, of finding a position I could afford to take and still be able to be at home on a regular basis. Just then, I heard my mobile phone bleep, the alert announcing an incoming text. I fished the handset out of my pocket.

*Tomorrow's meeting has been moved to Drake House, same time, 9:30, please acknowledge receipt of this message and confirm your attendance.*

The message had come from a number I recognised, that of the area manager who had interviewed me in connection with my recent job application. And Drake House was a large office building, towering over the heart of the city centre, just seven miles from where I stood. My knees seemed to have turned to jelly, and I might well have physically staggered.

"Are you OK, Sammy? You don't look very well." The boy's sweet voice seeped into my consciousness, seemingly in stages.

"Yeah....I'm fine....I think. It looks like my plans....have been changed at the last minute, maybe I won't have to go after all."

The dazzling smile returned, brighter than ever.

"Great! I missed you so much when you were working in London. You're my best friend, and I hate it when you're away."

"I....missed you, too....Ollie. You're such a smashing lad....I was always thinking of you, every day."

"I love it when you say nice things about me - you're the only one who cares, my mum and stepdad couldn't give a monkey's about me, all they're bothered about is my sister. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't helped me, that day my stepdad said I had to be in the Navy when I left school, like he used to be, and I ran away. You were so kind to me, talking to me when you found me crying on the top field. I knew you cared about me, right from that first day."

The boy's eyes narrowed, and he gave a little conspiratorial smile.

"There's no-one in, you know. My stepdad is on lates, and Mum has taken my sister to the dentist, she won't be back for at least an hour. Do you want to come in, and....we can go to my room, and....play again?"

My mouth was suddenly bone dry. Play? There didn't seem, from his demeanour, much doubt about what sort of 'play' he had in mind. I gulped, nervously.

"Give me a minute, Ollie. I'd better....answer this text first."

"OK. Come in through the garage when you're ready. You know where to go, I'll be waiting." He gave me the most exaggerated wink imaginable, grinned from ear to ear, and wiggled his hips seductively. He disappeared, giggling hysterically, into the relative darkness of the garage.

I turned my attention to my phone, walking a few steps along the road while thinking about how to frame my reply - I had no idea, of course, of what 'tomorrow's meeting' was about. As I pondered my predicament, the same feeling of hiatus, of stepping from one reality to another, that I'd had just a few minutes earlier, recurred. The light changed again, brightening to the extent that I was left squinting as I tried to focus on the screen in front of me. The words displayed there seemed to dissolve and reform, and as my eyes readjusted, I read what proved to be a 'junk mail' message from my mobile phone provider, offering me £1 bonus credit for every £15 top-up I made. I turned around, looking back the few yards to Oliver's house, noticing that the garage door was closed, and that there were no other signs of life in evidence. I was so deflated, I was struggling not to burst into tears, right there in the middle of the street. What the hell had happened? Then, like a light bulb illuminating in my head, I remembered a documentary I'd watched, talking about the concept of parallel universes, how, by some cosmological theories, there are an infinite number of universes, where people nearly identical to us live nearly identical lives, and how, theoretically, it might be possible to move from one parallel track to another, almost at random. Surely that couldn't have been what had happened to me, to move from my regular track to another and then back again? Could it?

As I stood there, dumbstruck, trying to come to terms with my bizarre experience, I heard a voice. A sweet, young voice.

"Are you OK, you don't look very well? You're the man who lives in the house behind ours, aren't you?"

I lifted my eyes, and met the blue, blue eyes of a lovely blond boy on a bike. He smiled, conspiratorially.

"I've read your blog. You like me, don't you? Do you want to....play, sometime?"

****

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B