After some consideration of the comments I received for The Boy, I decided to rewrite the story in third person (so I can change perspectives), and take my time telling the story, changing a few things as well. This will probably be a long one, but I will try to write the next chapters as quickly as my two fingered typing will allow me. I hope you enjoy the reimagined story.
*
Callum O'Donnell, Cal to those who knew him, walked shirtless into the gray mist of morning and shivered against the chill in the air. He considered putting on a shirt, but it wouldn't take long for him to put out the trash, so he crossed the yard in his slippers and sweatpants.
For a man of forty-seven, he was in excellent shape. His body was hard with muscle and well-toned beneath the even coat of black hair that covered his chest and wash board stomach from working out on a near daily basis. He managed to keep his waist slim, despite his penchant for junk food. His late partner, Mathew, insisted that Cal eat a balanced diet, but since his death three years prior, Cal ate whatever he wanted, which was the diet he subsisted on when in college. The only salad he ate came on his hamburgers.
Life after Mathew's death was hard on Cal, in ways he never could have imagined. He withdrew from all but the most stubborn of his friends, stopped socializing, and didn't give dating any consideration. He had already met his perfect mate, the only man who could believably tell him no. Sexually, Cal's ass belonged to Mathew's skillful love making, and he just couldn't imagine another man would be able to fill Mathew's side of the bed. In short, he had given up on finding love, now that his love was gone from this world.
In the alley, Cal opened the lid of his trash can and dropped the bag inside. Catching movement out the corner of his eye, he looked down the alley and saw the image of someone rooting through the contents of one of his neighbor's cans. He recognized the person in question as a homeless teen he had seen in the alley on subsequent mornings. Same blue hoodie, different trash can.
The boy was a blonde, he remembered, but he hadn't managed to get a good look at the kid's face. The tell-tale sign that the boy was just a kid was the perfect bubble butt that was only found on teenaged boys, rising high from a slim waist. Today, however, that perfect butt that Cal was so envious of was barely visible beneath a pair of oversized jeans, cinch to the boy's thin waist with a thick leather belt.
Cal found himself approaching the kid in the blue hoodie before he had made a conscious decision to do so. He was twice the size of the kid, and he was pretty sure he could take him if a fight ensued, but he was nervous nonetheless. What he knew about homeless people he could fit into a thimble. He had this preconceived notion they were all wild, like feral cats. Still, he was intrigued by this kid, curious about his story. He wondered where he slept, how he found food. Maybe he was digging in the trash can looking for something to eat. What kind of human being would he be if he just ignored that?
The kid turned, startled by Cal's approaching footsteps, and Cal stopped dead in his tracks. The face looking back at him had a remarkable resemblance to Mathew's, if Mathew had been a blue eyed blonde. Cal also noted the fading remnants of an ugly bruise marking the kid's left eye. Something about seeing that someone had hit the kid pissed him off at once. He crossed his arms across his chest, against the chill of in the Spring air and to prevent him from pulling the boy into a protective hug.
"What are you doing?" Cal asked, feeling like an idiot as soon as he heard the words tumbling nervously out of his mouth.
"Nothing," the kid answered. The invisible chip on his shoulder was evident in his voice.
"Then why are you rummaging through a garbage can?" Cal smiled, hoping to assure the boy that he wasn't a threat. Given his state of dress, it was obvious Cal was unarmed.
The kid looked at the garbage can, then back at Cal. His face creased with what Cal thought was anger, but it looked more like embarrassment.
"If you're hungry, I was about to fix some breakfast. You're welcome to join me if you want."
The kid looked down the alley way, then allowed his eyes to slide over Cal's body.
"I'm not a threat," Cal said reassuringly, "I just want to help, if I can."
"Okay," the boy answered hesitantly.
Cal turned and started back toward his back gate. He turned only once to see if the boy was following. He was, his hands stuffed so deep in the pockets of his hoodie that the material stretched. The boy caught up with him by the time they arrived at the gate, and Cal ushered him through, placing a hand on his lower back. The two of them crossed the yard together, bypassing the swimming pool and entered the house through sliding glass doors that opened on the dining room. Inside, Cal moved into the white and chrome kitchen with the boy on his tail.
"My names is Cal, by the way," he told the boy, seating him at the breakfast nook before going to pour the boy glasses of orange juice and milk.
"Ant." The boy replied.
"Ant?"
"It's short for Anthony."
"Oh, I see," Cal set the glasses in front of Ant and started pulling bacon, sausage and eggs from the refrigerator. He normally didn't make so much for breakfast, but he had a visitor he was pretty sure was hungrier than any guest he had ever had.
"How do you like your eggs?" Cal asked, placing the bacon on a baking sheet.
"Scrambled is fine." Ant answered, taking a sip of his orange juice, then making a face at the bitterness.
"Is it okay?" Cal asked, concerned the orange juice had gone bad.
"It's fine," Ant promised him, "I'm just not a big fan of orange juice."
"Neither was my boyfriend," Cal laughed. "Personally, I can't get enough of the stuff. It's probably the only healthy thing I consume regularly." He considered what he had offered Ant, then thought better of his choices. "There's coffee in the pot. It might help take the chill out of your bones."
Ant rose and started setting up a cup of coffee, taking the cream Cal handed him, then added enough sugar to put Cal into a diabetic coma. Oh, to be young again, Cal thought to himself.
"Am I right in thinking you're homeless?" Cal asked as he dropped breakfast sausage links into a heated pan.
"Yeah," Ant answered, sitting on a stool at the kitchen's white marble topped island to watch Cal work, "My dad threw me out of the house when I turned eighteen."
