Reflections of a Bin Bag Boy-New drama novel

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Chapter 3 Contacts

 I was given a week to leave John and Linda’s. There was no discussion with them. They did not approach the subject. All information came via Pauline. There seemed to be an atmosphere in the house of determined avoidance and simple resignation to my fate. The nearest my ejection from their household was approached was when Linda enquired if I had said goodbye to my friends at school and to make sure that I returned all my School text books to my teacher. Each day I came home from school I found more and more of my belongings either packed in boxes or bin bags, placed neatly in the corner of my increasingly bare bedroom. I felt that my presence in their house was systematically being erased.  

My behaviour during this week was impeccable. Naively hoping that they would change their mind. I recall trying everything I knew to prove that I could be good. I wrote a letter, in my best handwriting, asking John and Linda to keep me. I even drew love hearts on the bottom of the page. It had taken me all of one night to get it right. I left the letter on the kitchen table as I left for school. I came home that night expecting them to mention my letter. It was not acknowledged in any way. I hunted through the kitchen bin and found my letter screwed up amongst the other rubbish. Evening meal, my homework and bed time routine were executed in exactly the same way.

Pauline had always encouraged me to keep a “Memory Box” of items that were most important to me. I remember placing this letter in my box. It was originally a shoe box. I still have it and occasionally explore its content and embrace the memories and feelings it generates. Wherever I lived, I would ensure this box was placed in the most secret place that I could find.

 Purely by fate or chance another letter was to be placed in my box during this particular week.

 Pauline had come to see me for the second time that week. Before she went onto to tell me details about my next home, she slowly and cautiously told me that my mother had written a letter to me. My mother had requested Social Services to pass it on. She gave me the option to read it or not. I remember my hands beginning to shake and my throat tightening, as I said that I did want to know what it said. We both agreed that it would be best if Pauline read it out for me. She reached for her bag, brought out a white envelope and gently removed its content. I think she realized how precious this moment was for me. She pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose, and began to read;

 Dear Son

 I have wayted such a long time to wright to you because I didnt know what to say or even if you wanted to here from me. I do hope this letter gets to you.

 I hope you are very happy and being treeted well. I would not blame you son if you are very angry with me. I could not give you the life that you need. I have to many problems myselve. But never forget that I am your mother I gave birth to you and that you will always be in my heart and brain. I am so sorry for the mistakes that I have made and what I put you threw. I do not expect you to forgive me. I will never forgive myselve. But as long as I am alive there will always be someone in this world that loves you.

  I remmember your first words and your first steps. I remmember you getting your first tooth. I was the one that used to get up in the middle of the nite when you was upset. I was the one that took you to get all your needles from the doctor. When you had Chicken pox I was the one that put cream on you to stop you iching. Your favorite video was the wizard of Oz you used to flapp your hands when I put it on for you. Do you remmember feeding the ducks in the park. I have so many memorys of you my little darling it would be dead hard to put them all in one letter.

 It would be wrong to interfer in your life now and I am sure that you are more happy with your foster carers than you would have been with me. You now have a great chance to become anything that you want to be. You are so speciall I am sure everybody will fall in love with you and see the wonderfull little man that you are.

 social services have told me how well you are doing with your education and how you have come along with managing that temper of yours that used to make me and your Gran laff! Do you remmember? I am so proud of you son. I keep a photo of you in my purse. You will always be my son and who nows when you are old enuff we could meet again.

 I am living in london and trying to sort my problems out. I didnt have an easy upbringing myselve and always wanted better for you. Robert I have done some bad things that I am not proud of. I never want you to turn out anything like I have. I do not beleive people are borne bad, but sometimes things in life can make you do things that you know are wrong. Please make the rite choyces in life. Please carry on making me proud of you son and remmember like in the film wizard of Oz dreams really do come true.

 Good by for now my little man with hugs and kisses and all my love for ever,

 Your Mother – Christine

 Silence. Pauline carefully and slowly folded the letter back up and placed it in the envelope. She handed it to me. I laid it on my lap almost frightened to touch it in case it evaporated. “How do you feel Robert?” Silence. Pauline’s question was ignored whilst I tried to assimilate and deal with the information that I had just received. I am sure she was sensitive and skilled enough to allow me, uninterrupted, just a few moments to loose myself in my private thoughts.

 I think she went to her car for something. She returned with a folder. I think she tried to show me a picture.  I heard something about a Children’s Home, a short stay until they could find me a new set of Foster Carers.

  Once again my mind was elsewhere. Predictably it was buried in the content of my mother’s letter. Over time, this letter was to become the most precious item amongst all the other treasure in my “Memory Box”, for it was the first and only letter I was to receive from my mother. I have had no other communication with her since that day. I would scrutinize the hand writing, the choice and rhythm of the words to glean what I could about her personality and lifestyle. I would even smell the paper for any further hints to her human reality. It passed through my mind that Pauline had got someone from Social Services to write it because she knew I was upset about moving from John and Linda’s.  My fertile imagination conjured up all kinds of weird and wonderful scenarios.

 Woolsten House was the children’s home that myself and my belongings were transported to. Set remote and rural part of Sheffield, it was a rather tatty and neglected Victorian building set its own grounds. It had belonged to a wealthy industrialist who donated it to the "poor children" of Sheffield. The whole building needed new paint and the numerous rooms were filled with an odd miss- match of old and new furniture. Noises easily echoed around this house and so did the unearthly sounds of the old heating system that frightened some children at night. For my little body the house seemed far too big, everyone seems to rattle around in it. It reminded me of one of those very old type schools that rich children went to. However, the private grounds provided ample space for outdoor play, "Hide and Seek" and building Dens in the woods near the stream. My bedroom was enormous, my single bed and bits of furniture were completely lost. The main feature was a giant old fashioned fire place and the grate was a perfect hiding place for my Memory Box. There was no carpet on the floor, just wooden floor boards covered in the middle by a small rug. The floor, my room and the rest of the house was freezing, especially in the winter months. Frost would appear on the inside of the windows.

  It provided rooms and a home for seven other children that had been taken into care. At nine years old, I was the youngest resident, the eldest being fourteen at the time of my move. The profile of the residents often changed, although I was to become a constant feature at this house for three years. It was staffed by a team of residential care workers that worked on a shift basis that was hard to keep a track off, and the profile of these workers also changed considerably. The main exception to this change and flux was Mike, my own very special “key Worker” – who was still working at the house when I eventually left.

Mike was the one that shown me to my room. He helped me to settle in. He explained the rules of the house. Mike was the one that introduced me to the other residents and staff. Mike was also the one that was to introduce me to sex and was to become in my young mind, my lover.

Even at such a young age I knew that I was attracted to men or boys. I would get excited when John used to come out of the bath room wearing just a towel. At gym times at school I would take sneak glances at the handsome boys getting changed and examine their bodies. I would stimulate myself at night fuelled by erotic images and imagined role play. On TV it was always the good looking male actors that held my attention and stirred particular feelings. I had an infatuation on a young male teacher at the school I attended when I lived with John and Linda. There were many other signs when I examine my past now. Yet somehow, I had already picked up that this same sex attraction and relationships was not what society, generally, wanted. Although I was aware that opinions varied from total disgust to open acceptance, the weight of the evidence that I had managed to establish, told me that being “queer” or a “puff” was on balance wrong. This compounded my sense of feeling different and strange on top of all the other things that made me stand out from other children. My emerging sexuality had not yet found an outlet with a real person.

I believed that Mike was the most handsome man that I had ever seen with his dark curly hair and deep blue eyes. He was 33 years old when I moved in. He was married with two young daughters. His upper and lower body was muscular, toned and hairy. He was the outdoor adventure type and would often wear tight fitting T- Shirts. He seemed to have a permanent tan. His teeth perfectly white, his lips, full and soft. His warm, protective and buoyant personality was an additional attraction. I do not know to this very day if Mike knew or even cared about my sexual orientation – but he soon cast his spell on me and began grooming me to fulfill his sexual desires.

This grooming process started with him protecting me from the bullying that was attempted by certain other residents of the home. He would enter my bedroom sit on the end of my bed and assure me that he would not let any harm come to me whilst he was around. He would sit there stroking my leg under the bed clothes, whilst I lay there, hands over my groan, examining his sparkling eyes. It wasn’t too long after, on his sleep over shifts, he was sharing my bed and also my body.

Chapter 4 next update Monday the 9th Oct  2006

Author Ethan  J Starr has donated this novel to Redking and the novel will be published in it's entirety on this site. ew electronic ebook drama story, please enjoy this book short story free

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